


Divine Fire

by thenakednymph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean lance, Angst, Galra Keith, Galtean AU, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Minor Thace/Ulaz later, My Fair Lady - Freeform, My Fair Lady AU, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), PINING KEITH, Pretty Keith, Protective Lance, Racism, Slurs, Stubborn Keith (Voltron), flangst, glatean, his friend is an asshole, klance, we hate him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23705314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: This is just an AU of My Fair Lady. The title comes from "I have my own soul. My own spark of divine fire."
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 277
Kudos: 145
Collections: Sensational _klance





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this.

Lance stumbles, bumping into the wall and giggles. Whatever he’s drinking sloshes dangerously in the flute he’s holding, spilling over his fingers. He’s not sure when he switched glasses but it doesn’t matter.

Taelyn shushes him, the sound dissolving into a giggle a moment later until they’re both leaning against one another, snickering. 

When Lance is finally able to grab a breath he drapes himself against the cool stone. It feels good against his heated skin. 

“Thanks for this.” He grins lazily. “I really needed it.”

Taelyn shrugs. “You’re welcome man. I was hoping to get you laid tonight but…”

Lance dissolves into giggles again, as bubbly as the liquid in his glass. 

“I can’t find anyone reasonable,” Taelyn grumbles. 

“My father would probably kill them for defiling me,” Lance snorts. “He won’t let me out of his _sight_.” His head smacks against the wall a little harder than he means to. 

“It’s been months,” Taelyn argues. “You’d think he’d let it go.” 

Lance’s laughter sours in his mouth. “Yeah…”

“Ah, nope. None of that.” He lifts Lance’s flute to his mouth. “No moping! We’re supposed to be celebrating.” Alcohol spills over Lance’s mouth as he struggles to drink before Taelyn dumps the entire thing all over his face. He finishes, choking on a laugh and raises the flute in triumph. 

Taelyn cheers and Lance wipes at his chin with a sleeve.

Lance sags against the wall with a content smile. “It’s not like I really get to pick anyway. And whoever I decided on wouldn’t be good enough for him anyway.”

Taelyn snorts. “Uh, he doesn’t really get a say in the matter. Legally you get to declare who you’re marrying.”

“Only in theory,” Lance scoffs. “He is _never_ going to let me marry someone he doesn’t find suitable.” He toes at the ground. “And I mean, there’s only a fifty/fifty chance-” He bites his lip and Taelyn sobers. He’s one of the only people who knows Lance’s likes more than women. It’s not exactly frowned upon on Altea, but as a Prince, and the last remaining member of his family Lance’s father is strongly pushing him to marry a woman. 

“Hey.” Taelyn puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We’ll find somebody.”

“How? I can’t-'' Lance runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to marry someone I can’t love. I’ve seen what that’s like. Not every relationship ends up like my parent’s did. They don’t always fall in love.” He blinks back tears. “I can’t be trapped in a loveless marriage Tae. I can’t. I was never supposed to-”' He sniffles, his voice dropping. “This wasn’t supposed to be my fate.” 

Taelyn pulls him into a hug. “I know.” Lance presses his face to Taelyn’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He holds Lance as he struggles to pull himself together, running a hand down the Prince’s back to comfort. 

“Hey, you know what we should do?”

Lance sniffles and pulls away, wiping at his face. “What?”

“We need a bet. Something fun. One last send off before the coronation.”

Lance looks at him curiously. “Like what?”

Taelyn drapes an arm around Lance’s shoulder, both of them losing their balance and falling into the wall. They laugh, struggling to smother the sound, lest they get caught. 

“Well…” Taelyn drawls. “You’re always saying you’re the Master of Disguise. The Primarch of Fashion. He Who Could Make A Rampaging Grognak Into A Prim And Proper Princess!” His voice rises along with his glass and Lance has to shush him, giggling into his shoulder until he shuts up.

“I can,” Lance insists. “You have seen me do it.”

Taelyn waves him off, blowing a raspberry. “Sure, sure, you can take a serving girl and pass her off as someone else. But that’s _easy_.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. 

“Oh?” Lance challenges, his eyebrows lifting. He’s only mildly insulted.

“Yeah. Let’s up the stakes.”

Lance’s interest is piqued. “I take it you have an idea?” A grin stretches across his mouth.

Taelyn nods eagerly. “Do it with a Galra.”

Lance snorts, the very idea outright ridiculous. “Not even _I_ could accomplish such a feat. 

“Is that so?” Taelyn lifts a challenging eyebrow and Lance scowls. 

“If this is gonna be a thing what are the rules?” Lance demands. “The stakes?” He pokes his friend on the nose. “It’s no fun if there aren’t any stakes.”

Taelyn wrinkles his nose, waving him off. “It’s not like we don’t already have a lovely stock on hand for you to choose from,” he says. He lifts a finger in warning. “And I get to pick them.”

“What?” Lance balks. “No way. This has to _actually_ be possible. I can’t do anything with the ones that have the-” He gestures vaguely at his head, the word eluding him for a moment. “The ears!” he crows with triumph. “They have to be Altean passing.”

“Spoil sport,” Taelyn mumbles and Lance smacks him. “Fine,” he caves. “Altean passing,” he agrees.

“I’m all for a challenge but you have to give me a fighting chance.”

Taelyn groans dramatically but gives in. “Fine. I won’t pick anything too terribly alien. They’re all feral anyway,” he mutters, waving a hand. “Your job is to pass them off as Altean at the celebration a few deca-phoebs from now before your coronation.”

Lance purses his lips in thought. At the very least it’s something to do to pass the time. “Done.”

“What happens when you _lose_ ?” Taelyn teases. “Even _you_ can’t train a Galra to be civilized.”

Lance blows a raspberry at his friend. “Bullshit. I so can. And when I win you’re going to help me convince my father to let me marry a man.”

“Oh hell no.” Taelyn pulls back. “No way. Your dad will never go for that.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “It’s not any fun if you don’t play along Tae. And I’m not saying I’m _going_ to marry a man, just that I want to be able to choose. It’s ridiculous I have to marry a woman. What if the person I want to marry is better suited for it? He can’t know that. It’s _my_ life.”

“Ugh, fine. But when you _lose_ you have to be the one to volunteer for the mud pits this year.”

Lance pales. At the expression on his face Taelyn cackles. “Thought you could do anything Your Royal Majesty,” he teases. 

Lance sets his teeth. “You’re on.”

~

Together they stumble down to the dungeon, a number of captured Galran soldiers in the holding cells awaiting trial. 

The guards try to send them away but realizing it’s the prince they hold their tongues. Lance saunters awkwardly into the room, Taelyn after him. 

Lance gestures widely, spinning in a circle. 

“Here you are,” he drawls. “Take your pick.” 

Taelyn walks up and down the cells, tapping his lips thoughtfully. 

“Not much to choose from,” he complains. 

“Are you giving up? Admitting defeat?” Lance crows. 

“You wish.”

The prisoners either blatantly ignore them or watch with wary eyes. 

Taelyn points. “What about that one?”

“They’re yellow!”

“So? You said no ears, not that they couldn’t be strange colors.”

Lance scowls. “I said they had to be Altean _passing_ ,” he corrects, crossing his arms. 

Taelyn rolls his eyes and moves on. 

One of the prisoners is curled in a corner, a veil of matted black hair hanging down his back. He’s pale but humanoid, the glowing blue energy attaching the manacles to his collar illuminating his sharp features. 

“What about that one?” Taelyn points and the prisoner hisses, flashing fangs. 

“He’s half feral!” Lance complains. 

“What, afraid he’s gonna bite?” Taelyn mocks. “Or are you giving up so easily?”

Lance grinds his teeth. 

Taelyn sticks his fingers through the bars, wiggling them at the Galran like he’s a pet. The prisoner snaps his teeth and Taelyn reels back, spilling what’s left of his drink. 

Lance snickers and Taelyn, straightens his shirt, flustered. He kicks at the bars and the Galran hisses. 

Lance crouches down across from him, squinting in the dim light. He switches to Universal Standard. 

“What say you?” He taps the bars. “Want to get out of here?” Lance gets a hiss in response. “Aw, don’t be like that. We can get you a nice hot bath, some clean clothes, and a decent meal?”

Purple eyes narrow dangerously, fingers flexing where they’re bound against his chest. Lance can hear the gears in his mind turning as he thinks. If he can get out of the cell and convince whatever moron this is to take off the bindings...he may still have a shot at his target. Even if it means playing dress up.

“We can even send you home after,” he promises. Drunk as he is, Lance sees no reason that could be a problem.

Another prisoner snaps in Galran. “ _Don’t_.”

Keith ignores him, turning back to the drunkard on the other side of the bars. He gives a slow nod.

Lance claps giddily before stumbling to his feet. A moment later the guard is coming over and unlocking the cell. He drags Keith to his feet and Keith barely resists the urge to fight him off as he’s pulled from the cell. He’s passed over to Lance who immediately loops his arm through Keith’s like they’re old friends. 

Taelyn wrinkles his nose and steps back. “Ugh, he reeks.” He fans the air in front of his face. 

“Then it’s a good thing he isn’t _yours_ ,” Lance throws back and Keith bristles. 

“At least take him to the baths. He’s gonna stink up the whole palace.”

Lance sticks his nose in the air, leading Keith from the room, Taelyn in tow. The door snaps closed behind them.

~

The next thing Lance remembers is waking up in bed. He has a wicked hangover and he’s still in his clothes from last night. 

He rolls onto his side with a groan, dragging a hand down his face. 

Keith is sitting against the wall across from him and Lance startles as they make eye contact. 

“Woah.” He snaps upright, immediately regretting it and putting a hand to his head. “Oh fuck.” He kicks off the blanket, opening a wall panel and downing something for the hangover. He rubs at his tired eyes before turning back to Keith. 

“Who are you?”

The Galran sneers. “Don’t even remember,” he rumbles. His voice is deeper than Lance expects. 

“Wait-” He puts a hand to his forehead and winces. “The bet. We made a bet?” He lets his head tip back with a groan. 

“Fuck Tae...” 

Lance lets his hand fall back to his side. “And I just left you here on the floor all night like an ass. I’m sorry.”

Keith lifts a disbelieving eyebrow as Lance rummages around for a key to unlock the binds. 

“I’m so sorry. I was drunk off my ass last night.” He finds a key and crouches down beside Keith, killing the energy threads that keep the shackles connected to the collar. 

Lance tosses them away and Keith stretches painfully. His arms are cramped from being held in the same position for so long, bruises around his wrists. 

Lance takes a bottle of something from his dresser, reaching to pull away the ruined vestiments Keith is still wrapped in. 

A strong hand snaps around his wrist, yanking him back with a warning growl. Lance holds still but is visibly not threatened. 

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he soothes. He dips his head to the bottle in his hand. “It’ll help with the pain.” 

Keith gingerly lifts the stopper from the bottle, giving it a curious sniff. He deems it harmless and drops the glass lid back in place, releasing Lance’s wrist. 

Lance takes a drop of the oil and rubs it into the back of his hand before showing it to him.

“See?” 

The Galran appears unfazed but lets Lance pull the ruined tunic away, baring his arms. Lance drops it in the corner, wrinkling his nose. He pours some of the oil out, warming it between his hands. 

“You have a name?” he asks, gingerly working his fingers into the cramped muscle of Keith’s arm. 

There’s a suspicious pause before he answers. “Keith.”

“I’m Lance.” He smiles. “And I believe I owe you an apology.” 

Keith narrows his eyes. “For what?”

Lance looks at him flatly. “From what I remember...being a racist asshole last night.” 

Keith scoffs but doesn’t say anything. 

Lance bites his lip, guilt in his heart. He hadn’t meant a lot of what he’d said last night. Much of it had been Taelyn’s influence as well as that of his own father. It seems old lessons are hard to shake. 

“Soooo,” he drawls. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a bind here.” Keith stares at him from the corner of his eye. “It seems you’ve become an unwitting pawn in my own bullshit.” He threads a bit of his quintessence into a particularly stubborn knot, trying to soothe away the pain. 

A strong hand to his chest shoves him back and Keith hisses, crouched low in the corner. 

“What did I do!?” 

Keith hisses, fangs bared. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demands. 

Lance flounders. “Nothing!”

“You were doing _something_ ,” Keith accuses and realization dawns on Lance.

“It was just alchemy,” he soothes. “A bit of my quintessence to ease the pain.” His eyebrows knit together in something like sympathy and confusion. The same alchemy they use in war. No wonder Keith had shoved him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I should have asked.”

A low growl rumbles through Keith’s chest. “No alchemy,” he warns. 

“I won’t do it again,” Lance promises. He doesn't understand Keith's adamant refusal to let him ease the discomfort he'd so blatantly caused, but he doesn't have to. He just needs to respect it. The fear of alchemy in general he understands. But he isn’t trying to hurt him.

“Will you let me help?”

Keith’s lips are still pulled away from his teeth but he slowly settles back on the floor. 

Carefully Lance scoots closer. His movements are slow and measured as he takes up the oil again, working on Keith’s other arm. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. “Would you like a bath?” Keith grunts and Lance takes that as a yes. “I’ll see about getting you something else to wear.”

“Afraid I’ll offend your fine Altean sensibilities?” he snaps. 

Lance rolls his eyes. “You are more than welcome to sit there in rags if you like, I just thought it might make you more comfortable.” He scowls. “Are all Galra this snappish?” 

Keith full on glares. “You just pulled me out of your wretched prison,” he spits. “Do you expect me to be polite?”

Lance opens his mouth to retaliate and then closes it. “Fair.” He wipes his hands on his clothes from last night before rising to his feet.   
“Bathroom is through here.” He opens the door, steam curling in the air from the heated pool. Tall pillars line one wall open to the fresh air and Keith takes a deep breath of it. His eyes drift closed without meaning too. It's been some time since he smelled fresh air. 

It's salty, the same as home, but heavily perfumed and thick with the scent of flowers.

Lance can't help the way his eyes linger on Keith's features as they smooth. It's only for a moment.. but in that moment Lance realizes Keith is quite pretty. At least drunk him has good taste. 

Vines and flowers cover the stone pillars, veiling the bath from view and filtering the light as Lance leads Keith into the room 

Small tiles cover the floor in delicate patterns and Lance smiles. 

“Help yourself to whatever you need. I’ll be back.” He shuts the door behind him, leaving Keith to stare awkwardly around the expansive space. It’s obnoxiously opulent in its scale, overdressed for its purpose. Keith doesn’t understand it. 

He shakes his head, discarding what’s left of his suit and steps into the water. 

“Fucking Alteans.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lance returns with a platter of food and a change of clothes. The door to the bathroom opens automatically and he walks in. 

Keith startles, whirling on Lance with a hiss and he nearly trips over his feet. Keith is very much naked, clothed in nothing but his dark hair and the beads of water clinging to his skin. 

Lance immediately spins around, almost losing his balance as he does. Heat blooms all across his face. 

“Shit, shit I’m sorry. I should have knocked.” He holds his bundles awkwardly, trying not to spill as his entire body flushes with embarrassment.

Keith slowly relaxes where he’s sitting at Lance’s vanity. “It’s okay,” he rumbles, weight sinking back into the aeat. 

Lance clears his throat, shifting his weight. 

“Um, I brought you dinner?” He shifts slightly to show Keith the tray in his hands without making eye contact. “And a change of clothes.”

Keth can’t help being amused in spite of the situation. “Are all Alteans this shy?” he teases. 

Lance flushes. “I am not shy!”

“Then come here.” He turns back around, not bothering to cover up. 

He lifts the gilded comb resting atop the vanity and tries to detangle the mess his hair has become. 

Lance bites his lip but slowly turns around. He struggles to gather himself before walking to the vanity. 

Averting his eyes he sets the platter down next to Keith along with the clothes. 

When he sees Keith struggling to comb through his hair he tuts disapprovingly. 

“Give it here.” 

Keith squints suspiciously and Lance wiggles his fingers, demanding to be handed the comb. Keith finally passes it over and Lance takes it, stepping behind him. The ends of Keith’s hair are still dripping and Lance flicks water from his fingers. 

“Heathen,” he mutters, reaching for a towel and Keith snarls. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Lance apologizes. “I didn’t mean that.” 

Keith finally settles, his lips twitching in displeasure as he watches Lance in the mirror. 

“I didn’t- mean it that way,” Lance says awkwardly, gently squeezing the water from the ends. “I would have-” He bites his lip and swallows thickly. “It was a joke.”

“Bad joke,” Keith warns. 

Lance nods, his cheeks warm as he pulls Keith’s hair back, starting on the ends. He works in silence for a moment, feeling awkward. 

Keith's hair is one big knot and Lance's shoulders slump in disapproval. He hopes they won't have to cut it. 

He searches through the bottles on his vanity for something to help loosen the tangles. 

“Why are you friends with him?” Keith asks as Lance tips bottles gently back and forth, looking them over. 

“Who? Taeyln?” He finally finds what he's looking for and lifts it from the table. 

Keith nods and Lance bites his lip, lifting the stopper. 

“I’m not...sure we’re actually friends,” he admits, putting a bead of liquid on his hand and showing it to Keith. He squints suspiciously. “Or if we are, we’re just friends of convenience.”

Keith scowls at the oil. "Not gonna hurt you," Lance murmurs. He stops abruptly and steps around Keith. "Wait. It _isn_ 't right? Gonna hurt you? I didn't think about that. You're not Altean, what if your hair falls out?"

Keith rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through the liquid on the back of Lance's hands. He works it over the ends of his hair and between his fingers. Nothing happens. 

He wrinkles his nose at the smell. Too sweet and floral. 

"Seems fine." He flicks his hair back over his shoulder. 

"So what was the nose wrinkle for?" He's curious, not offended. 

"Smells bad," Keith says flatly. 

Lance nods. "Yeah, it's why I don't use it." He takes the bottle back, reaching for something else. "What about this?" 

He wafts the bottle gently beneath Keith's nose. The smell is soft and warm, faint. Like the spice mines back home. It's comforting. Keith nods. 

"Smells nice," he mumbles. 

Lance sniffs the bottle and shrugs. "Can't smell anything," he mumbles. That seems to draw him up short again. "Huh. You have a heightened sense of smell." He looks around the room in horror. "How can you stand it in here?" he all but shrieks and Keith buries the urge to laugh at how ridiculous he looks. "Isn't this overwhelming? How do you not have a migraine?" 

"It's fine." He takes the bottle from Lance's hands, dumping the liquid into his hands and starts to slather it over his hair. 

Lance squawks and snatches it back. "Stop it, you're gonna make it oily!'

"I thought that was the point?" Keith snaps back. 

Lance sighs in a long suffering manner, wiping the excess oil from Keith's hands with the towel. 

"The _point_ was to help detangle the mess in your hair, not slather you for dinner." 

Keith snorts. "Wouldn't put it past you." 

Lance blinks at him, startled. 

Keith sits awkwardly under Lance's stare. 

"You really think we do that?" He works the oil gently through Keith's hair. 

Keith doesn't answer him. There's apparently a lot they don't understand about one another. 

Lance let's out a deep sigh and changes the subject back to Keith's earlier question. 

He keeps his eyes on Keith’s hair and the movements of the comb. 

“There’s not really anyone else around my age to talk to.” He winces. “Sorry again, about last night." Keith's hair slides easily between the teeth of the comb. "I think Tae brings out the worst in me,” Lance admits. 

“If your _friends_ drag you down they are not your friends,” Keith hisses, his eyes watching Lance in the mirror. “Do better.” His voice is a low growl. “I don’t understand you people.

“If your friends are shitty, get better friends,” he snaps. 

Lance tries not to laugh. Keith is right. But it's not that easy. There are politics to keep in mind and feelings. If Lance offends Taelyn his father could withdraw his support for the war or raise the prices on much needed supplies and materials or cut off trade or passage through his lands. All because of something Lance said or did.

A deep sigh leaves Lance and Keith watches a series of lines appear around his eyes. 

“I’ll try.” His smile flickers before it falls. Keith makes it sound so simple. If only it were. 

“We’re gonna have to work on that growly thing you do if this is gonna work,” Lance says, effectively derailing the conversation. 

"If what's gonna work?" 

"Passing you off as Altean." Keith wrinkles his nose again before swallowing back his own distaste. 

“Why should I agree to this?” Keith asks, snappish and defensive. 

“Well that probably would have been something to ask me last night,” Lance teases, “before I brought you up here.”

“You weren't exactly listening to me,” Keith accuses. 

“Fair,” Lance admits, combing through Keith’s hair and his cheeks color again. “Now, I am never one to back down from a challenge, but I need your help. I have to be able to pass you off as an Altean a few deca-phebes from now.”

“And _why_ would I want that?” Keith raises a dark eyebrow. 

“Because,” Lance drawls, pulling Keith’s hair back into a french rope braid. “If I win the bet, I can send you home.” 

Keith’s eyes widen. “You can-” He stares at Lance in the mirror, trying to keep the hunger from his voice. He has a mission to complete. And if he does he’ll have to escape. He hadn’t signed up for the mission to return home, hadn’t expected to. And here Lance is, offering to. 

“You could give me safe passage back to Daibazal?” 

“I am an _excellent_ liar,” Lance informs him, sectioning off Keith’s hair. “If we can successfully pass you off as Altean, trust me, I can lie you all the way back home. It wouldn’t be hard.” 

Keith scratches at the vanity in thought. Lance frowns in disapproval but doesn't say anything. 

If Keith can keep the assassination clean maybe this can be his cover. And at the very least it gives him the chance to collect information to bring home to the Emperor. Maybe it will give them an advantage in the war.

He meets Lance’s eyes in the mirror. “Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this wanted to be split into two chapters today but it did, so here you go.

They spend the first few days getting Keith settled in while Lance outlines plans for Keith’s “transformation”. Most of which starts with how to care for his skin, style his hair, and apply dark kohl to his eyes. Keith understands none of it. Alteans seem unnecessary obsessed with their appearances. Keith thinks it’s a waste of time but does it anyway. 

It’s awkward, neither of them knowing quite how to act around the other. For lack of anywhere else to stay, Keith sleeps in the small room adjoining Lance’s. It’s usually reserved as a servant’s quarters but it’s been empty for years. He’d sealed it off for safety’s sake and conveniently forgotten it the night he’d drunkenly left Keith to sleep in the corner. 

He still has to walk through Lance’s room to get out but at least now he has a bed. It makes it hard to sneak out but Keith is secretly grateful. He’s tired of sleeping on straw and stone or heavy metal. 

Lance hadn't explicitly forbidden him from leaving but Keith is acutely aware he's still technically a prisoner. The only thing keeping him from being thrown back into that cell is Lance's will and good opinion. Which could change on a whim. 

Once he’s familiar with both rooms and Lance, at least as much as he can be, Keith is at a loss for what to do. 

Being trapped inside such a massive space makes him restless and irritable. He’s used to close quarters, but never in a space this cold and filled with metal. There’s nowhere safe and dark to curl up in and relax. It leaves him tense and on edge. He doesn’t realize he’s free to wander until Lance all but throws him from the room, irritated by his ceaseless pacing. 

"What about your bet?"

Lance waves him off with a scolding noise. "I need time to prepare! To make plans! Magic doesn't happen overnight." He all but shoves Keith from the room, knocking him off balance.

The guards make to follow him but Lance calls them off. 

“But-” one of them tries to argue, glancing between Keith and Lance. “He is _Galra_.”

Lance scowls and straightens to his full height. The guard looks cowed. “He is a _guest_ ,” Lance corrects sharply. “And as such is free to go where he pleases. He will be treated with the same respect as any other, do you understand?” The guard ducks his head and flushes beneath his helmet. 

“Yes sir.” 

Lance nods sharply. “Good. If you _must_ follow him I expect it to be for his own safety. You will inform the other guards of this.”

“And the king?” one of them dares to ask, glancing up from under his eyebrows. “He will not like it.” His voice is soft. 

“Can shove it up his ass,” Lance snaps. 

Keith buries a laugh under a cough behind his fist as Lance turns to him. He’d not expected that level of irreverence from an Altean to their king. Especially not to someone he’s apparently sworn fealty to. The Galra would never dare to do such a thing. But there is much love for their monarch. There has to be. He doesn’t understand Alteans or their politics.

Lance tosses him something and Keith catches it out of the air on reflex without realizing what it is. 

“Stay safe.” A small smile pulls at Lance’s mouth. “Alteans can be rather racist.” He scowls at the guards one last time and Keith looks at the scabbard in his hand. A narrow blade is tucked inside, small and easily hidden but long enough to slip between someone’s ribs. He doesn’t understand why Lance would dare to arm him. He nearly asks and then it dawns on him Lance means what he said. He _is_ a guest and Lance is treating him as such. He's not just saying it while holding the belief in his mind that Keith is the enemy. 

Keith stares at the blade in his hands. He doesn't know what to make of Lance. He doesn't say what he's thinking in wonderment, that Lance isn't afraid of him. It's something he can't quite fathom. He’s never met an Altean who hadn’t hated him on sight. But then again Lance had been drunk the first time...

Keith tucks the blade behind his belt and searches Lance's features. He's either stupid...or very honorable. Keith doesn't know which yet. 

Lance nods in approval as Keith tucks the blade away. 

“He is more than capable of defending himself and I fully expect him to.” Lance turns hard eyes on Keith. “But I also expect him to behave with the same level of respect and decorum as everyone else here, myself excluded of course.” A smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth. “And if you’re going to cause trouble at the very least have the decency not to get caught.”

Keith can’t stop the small smile from spreading over his lips. He nods, trying to hide his amusement. Against his better judgement Keith _likes_ Lance. He never thought he'd see the day. 

True to Lance’s word Keith had not been followed. He’d taken his time to map out the castle, trying to find out more information about the prince and his father. He’d received a number of odd looks before he’d taken to the shadows as best he could, avoiding detection. There are few places to hide. Altean architecture by its design doesn’t allow for it. Everything is tall and open and bright. It leaves Keith on edge. Thankfully the Alteans are also _noisy_. Which makes them easy to avoid. 

He makes mental note of the servants’ passages and potential places to hide, what few there are, before slipping out onto a balcony. The sun is blinding but Keith welcomes the fresh air. He knows he’s still in prison. His cage is only gilded now. He misses home, misses the sea, the dark earth and sky, the warmth. Here everything burns, too bright, too distant. Too cold.

Altea is a planet of contradictions. Their architecture is open but they speak with lies between their teeth. The sunlight is blinding, hiding secrets and the rooms are forever packed with bodies who are emotionally cold and distant. 

Keith runs a hand through his hair, mussing the braid Lance had put it in that morning, the same as always. It's tight and complicated and makes Keith's scalp prickle uncomfortably. 

He stares out at a sea the wrong color from his own and his heart aches for home. 

Maybe one day this'll all be worth it. Maybe.

~

During his wanderings Keith finds what appears to be a training room. A line of wooden weapons rest along one side and Keith tests their weight in his hands before selecting one. Two guards wander in a few minutes later and Keith rolls his eyes. They take up watch along the far wall and Keith can feel their paranoia and suspicion. Apparently not all of them got Lance's memo. He doesn’t recognize them from before.

Keith does his best to ignore them and hefts one of the staves, giving it an experimental swing. This at least is familiar. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you have any questions, find any inconsistencies and or plot holes. I'm restructuring a lot of the plot as we go and may have missed a thing or two.

A few hours later Lance walks in looking for him. He narrows his eyes at the guards, one of which keeps his hand on the sword at his hip. They're watching Keith intently and Lance can see why. He’s wielding a staff like a blade, his white Altean robes whirling around him. He’s faster than anything Lance has ever seen, the weapon a blur in his hands. His long braid snaps behind him like a black flag and he’s almost entirely silent. Save for the way the wind whistles past the stave. 

Goosebumps rise on Lance’s arms as he watches. No wonder he can never hear Keith coming up behind him. 

Keith comes to a stop as he sees Lance watching. His lips purse and he takes a ragged breath, wiping at his face with the back of his wrist. 

Lance smooths his features and crosses the floor, hands tucked behind his back. Keith watches him for a moment before returning the staff to the weapons rack. 

“What do you want?” His new watchdogs have left him surly. His Blade training has reminded him of his place, of Lance’s, and the mission that sent Keith here in the first place. He can't afford the like Lance. 

Keith fusses with his sleeves, brushing off the dirt from the pit, pulling them back into place as Lance comes to a stop beside him. 

“Where did you learn that?” Lance's eyes are carefully curious. He’s never seen anyone move like that. 

“All the Blades receive the same training," he says flatly. 

“And the Blades are what?” Lance asks carefully. He’s heard of them but most of what he knows are based on rumors only. Very little has been able to be verified. And Keith seems less than open to the idea of sharing. Lance wants to learn but doesn’t want to press. 

“Assassins. We are no one and nothing. Ghosts. As we have to be.” 

He walks past Lance, heading for the door. Lance can’t help staring after him. He knows so little about Keith, every small grain of information new and confusing. He'd thought they were almost friends before. But now Keith has grown cold and distant again.

None of Keith's pieces make sense. 

He may have gotten more than he bargained for when he and Taelyn made that bet. And when he'd picked Keith.

“Who _are_ you?” He hadn’t bothered to learn anything about Keith or to ask how he’d wound up in their dungeon in the first place. What he’s been able to glean has been difficult. Keith offers up little. 

Keith stops, looking back at Lance after a moment. His violet eyes are detached and all but dead when they meet. 

“A dead man.”

Lance watches him go, the two guards making to follow him as the door hisses closed behind him.

"I thought I said-"

"Orders from the king," the guard cuts off and Lance grinds his teeth. "Your Highness," he tacks on mockingly. Lance's shoulders tense. He recognizes the man as one dedicated to his father and his father’s own racist and hateful views. Lance considers him a lost cause. At this point most of the guards have chosen their own silent sides. If pressed they wouldn’t admit it. But Lance knows there’s a split between those loyal to himself and those loyal to his father. These are the latter. 

"The prisoner is to be on constant watch,” the guard goes on. “Your father disapproves of your nonsense but has decided to be lenient. You may continue with your amusements," he says graciously. “One last hurrah before your coronation if you will.”

Lance gives a dramatic and overly exaggerated bow. 

"Why thank you kindly for your generosity,” Lance drawls, his voice saccharin. “You may tell the king I am deeply grateful." He barely resists the urge to spit at their feet before walking away. 

He catches up to Keith before he can get well and truly lost, leading them both back to the room. 

He wrinkles his nose as they fall into step with one another. “Oof, bath time for you.” 

Keith groans, tipping his head back to the ceiling. “I’m sorry, am I offending your good Altean sensibilities?” he growls. 

“Just a little.” Lance gives him a coy smile to let Keith know he’s teasing. “And your hair!” he bemoans. “It’s a disaster. I’m going to have to redo the entire thing.”

Keith scratches at his scalp. “It itches.”

“Fashion is pain Keith.” Keith makes a face at him Lance ignores. “But seriously, I have laid out a plan for us!” He claps his hands excitedly. “So shoo, into the tub. I don’t want to be smelling your gross man-sweat while we’re in the library.”

“The library? And I bathed this morning!”

“Yup! And I don’t care. You need another one.” He claps again. “It’s study time. Now go bathe.” 

He waves Keith into the bathroom without further explanation and once again Keith goes. He hasn’t had two baths in a single day since he was a kit. 

He mutters as much under his breath before the door closes behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Study time. And we gain a little more insight to Keith’s target

Keith takes his time in the bath, mostly to annoy Lance before getting dressed. It takes Lance threatening to barge in and recite a thousand page genealogy to him while he’s still in the tub to get him out. 

He dresses with a scowl, Lance sitting leisurely on his bed. If the door to his room were capable of slamming Keith would have slammed it. As it is he just gives Lance a dirty look before it shuts. 

~

Lance ends up reciting that genealogy to him anyway, something Keith bemoans as he flops heavily into a richly colored and patterned chair. 

“If I have to suffer through reading this, you have to suffer through listening.” Lance flips open the book and begins to read. Keith’s brain turns to mush in minutes. 

The names blur together and he can’t understand why something like this is remotely important. Either to Lance’s plan to make him “Altean” or to Alteans in general. 

“You people fixate too much on blood,” he interrupts by the time Lance reaches the third page. He rubs at his eyes and temples, trying to get the irritable throbbing to go away. 

Lance looks at him curiously, putting a finger to the page he’s reading from so he doesn't lose his place. He's trying to teach Keith about Altean royal bloodlines. It's something he knows Keith will be questioned on at the gala. He’s understandably bored. 

"Do Galra not?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. Family is who you choose, not who you are born to. Our blood is meaningless save for the bonds we make from it.”

Lance’s brows knit together in confusion. “Will you tell me more?”

Keith hesitates but doesn’t see the harm. “On Daibazaal children are raised by the community. We are all family. Every child, every kit, is intimately loved and known. It’s why so many of us choose mates outside of our own kind. We bring them in, add them to our family to make it grow.” 

“Is that why you all look so different?" Lance had been curious about it for years. The only explanation his father had given him was their lack of respect for their own bloodlines. Like somehow because their blood was mixed it made them inferior.

"You don’t look Galran.”

Keith snorts, offended and sinks back into his chair away from Lance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Lance hurries to back track, one hand touching the desk between them. "I just don't understand. You're all so diverse." Keith sees the sincerity in him and relaxes. “Here everyone looks the same, just variants in colors really. Galra come in so many shapes and sizes.” A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. 

“My mother is Galran, as you know the term,” Keith says. “My father was human. Like Alteans but without your alchemy. When she claimed him, took him as a mate, he became Galra.”

Realization seems to dawn on Lance and his lips part in a soft “oh.”

“I can shapeshift to a degree," Keith goes on, "take on more ‘galran’ traits. It’s an ability I inherited from her and learned as I grew older.”

Lance smiles softly. “I’d like to see that some day.” His smile turns teasing. “It’s rather Altean of you.” 

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes and Lance slumps across the desk. “I wish it was like that here.”

Keith’s head tips to the side. “Is it not?”

Lance shakes his head. “No. On Altea there are detailed records kept of who married who, married who, going further back than I care to remember.” He makes a face and pouts at the book beneath him. “I never understood the practice to be honest.” His head tips into his arms and he stares into the middle distance. “I wish we were more Galran. It’s a rather romantic concept.” 

He sighs wistfully, the book he'd been reciting genealogy from abandoned beneath his crossed arms. The irreverence of it makes Keith hide a smile. 

“Tell me about Daibazall,” Lance asks abruptly and Keith frowns, suspicious again.

“Why? Isn’t there enough history on my home to fill half this library?” He gestures to the myriad of books lining the shelves and those stacked on the desk around them. 

Lance pulls a face, poking at a pile and making it slide across the desk. 

“I’m tired of reading it. It’s so-” He pouts, continuing to poke at the books until they teeter dangerously near the edge. “Impersonal. Clinical. It’s all just words, blanket observations. There’s no emotion there, no feeling. It’s like someone took notes on a select few while they were in a glass box. There’s life to it.” He lifts his eyes to Keith’s. “I want to _know_ it,” he insists. “And I can’t do that through a book. At least not the ones we have here.” He frowns, looking at Keith. “Do you understand?”

Keith nods slowly. “I think so.” He scratches idly at the grain in the wood as he thinks, a habit Lance realizes he does when he’s thinking.

“It’s different than here,” Keith hedges. 

Lance snorts. “Obviously.”

Keith ignores him. “Where the Alteans built up the Galra built down. You chose to reach for the clouds and it shows in your architecture, your colors. Everything here is colored like your sky. Steel and blue and white. There’s too much space, nowhere to hide.” He wrinkles his nose. “It’s a wonder you’re not _more_ paranoid. On Daibazaal the cities are built half into the ground. What you see is only a fraction of a deep network of cities and homes built into the stone. It’s warm and close, familiar. This is so-” He gestures around the room again and shivers. “Cold.” 

Lance had never realized before but Keith is right. The amount of space Altea takes up is rather absurd. He tips his head to look at the vaulted ceiling above them. It all seems rather purposeless now and he wonders if it was designed with some intent beyond that of just looking impressive. 

"The planet is darker too,” Keith goes on, snapping Lance out of his wandering thoughts. “Our sky is clouded in swirls of grey and purple, the stars winking at us like your faerie crystals.” A small smile curls in the corner of his mouth as he speaks of his home. It softens his hardened features and Lance can’t help taking in the shape of him. His cheekbones are high and defined but Lance thinks that’s the lack of decent food. His eyes are beautiful, framed by dark lashes and strong brows. There’s an unfair pout to his mouth that doesn’t belong on a face that is so often bent into a severe expression. 

Lance clears his throat and tries to focus on what Keith is staying instead of the way his mouth forms it. 

“The capital is built in a spiral, carved from the mountain. It’s the tallest city we have.”

“But still built into the ground,” Lance clarifies. 

Keith’s smile widens. “Yes, like the inside of a shell. What parts of it extend into the air overlooks the sea. Waves crash into a black sand beach that curls around the cliffs leading up to the city. It’s beautiful.” Keith’s expression turns wistful. 

“How long has it been since you were last home?” Lance asks gently. 

Keith’s expression shutters and he sits back, the conversation coming to an abrupt end. “Too long.”

Lance pulls the book he’s supposed to be reading from closer, wishing he hadn’t asked. His heart falls to see the open vulnerability in Keith’s features vanish so rapidly. “You’ll see it again soon,” he promises. Keith only grunts. 

~

Lance is called away before he deems their study session complete and he gives Keith strict orders to stay put. Keith dramatically slaps a hand over the book Lance had been reading from and drags it closer, staring at him flatly before holding it up upside down. 

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes when Keith kicks his feet up onto the desk and flips idly through the book without turning it around. 

“At least _try_ to retain some of the information while I’m gone,” he teases. “I know it’s boring.” 

He strides from the room.

Keith waits from him to leave before flipping through the book looking for the Prince’s genealogy. It doesn’t take him long to find it. The book is partially empty, the most recent family line on the last few pages. 

Marcellus, his target, is the eldest of seven siblings and is already married with two children. All of them, along with the Queen have been marked as deceased. Only the youngest seems to still be alive, Leonan. 

Keith’s eyebrows come together and he taps idly at the page. He hadn’t heard of their deaths. If he had the Emperor never would have sent him. Keith purses his lips and pats at the page trying to decide what to do. 

He may have to ask Lance. If there’s still a surviving heir maybe Keith’s mission has changed. He needs to contact the rest of the Blades. Not that such a thing is possible at the moment. 

From what he can tell most of Altea’s kings step down after a dedicated period of time and Leonan’s father is well beyond the time he should have passed on the throne. But if all his children are now dead save for the last...that could explain the delay. If the surviving son is weak-willed enough perhaps killing him won’t be necessary. It’s possible he could be made into a puppet. If not, killing them both should be enough to destabilize Altea. There’s no surviving family beyond their line. The war would fall into disarray and chaos. Any attack on the planet thereafter would be overwhelming, their defeat swift with no one to lead them.

Keith closes the book, continuing to tap idly at the cover. A smile lifts the corner of his mouth. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

~

Once he’s grown bored with his studies, the blinding sun reflecting off the white stone giving him a headache, he returns to Lance’s room. He stops awkwardly in the hall when he sees him arguing with someone. 

There’s a tall man with red hair and a thick mustache standing outside Lance's door, a frown of disapproval on his face. 

“It’s only been three deca-phoebes,” Lance hisses. “I am _not_ moving, Coran.” 

Coran sighs, his hands settling on his hips. “Your father-”

“Can come down here and tell me himself,” Lance snaps and the man falls silent. “Let him grieve in his own way and me in mine.” There’s an anger there and a deep commanding note to his voice Keith hasn’t heard before.

Lance’s eyes dart over to Keith, widening in surprise. “Keith.” 

“Am I interrupting?” he says flatly, not particularly caring. Keith doesn’t know what had delayed him so long but he’d waited in the library for several hours and Lance had not returned. At first he’d been glad of the time to research in peace but he’d swiftly grown bored. He’d gone flipping through the book looking for Lance but hadn’t found him. Maybe he’s the son of a visiting diplomat who’d been trapped on the planet due to the conflict. He doesn’t know. Either way, there’s no trace of Lance’s own lineage in the book, though it seems likely he comes from titled blood. Maybe in one of the other books…? 

Lance smiles, his expression smoothing over and disrupting Keith’s train of thought. “Not at all. Coran was just leaving.” His smile turns sharp. Coran purses his lips but doesn’t argue. He inclines his head to them both before walking away. 

Keith watches him go, arms crossed tight across his chest. He waits until Coran has turned down the hall to speak. 

“What was that about?” He drops his arms, breezing past Lance into the room. 

Lance rolls his eyes. “My father doesn’t like it that I’m staying here. This hall is no longer used and he wants it closed off. So he wants me to move.”

“And you’re not going to go?”

Lance looks at him sharply, gaze cold. It’s obvious he will not be elaborating. 

“No. I am not.”

Keith doesn’t understand why he would choose to live so far from everyone else. 

“Are Alteans not social?” he asks curiously. “You all spend so much time packed together and yet you choose to stay in an empty hall?” 

Part of him wants to know so he can take the information back to Daibazal. As long as he's here he may as well take advantage of the opportunity to learn as much as he can. Another part of him, a part he's trying not to think about, wants to know because it's Lance. 

Lance lets out a deep sigh, sinking onto his bed and ruffling his hair. 

“I don’t know. Maybe? Everyone talks in circles and says things they don’t mean. We’re all liars.” He looks at Keith and his eyes are sad. “Don’t trust anything an Altean says or promises,” he says. “We break our word more easily than glass.”

Keith looks at him, turning Lance’s words over in his head. “Including you?”

Lance snorts. “Especially me.” His expression fractures. “I have a lot less power than you think I do.” He swallows thickly. “I have every intention of keeping my promise to send you home Keith, but I can’t guarantee that. And I hate it.” His eyes burn and Keith can see them turn wet. “I _want_ to send you home,” he rasps, rubbing at his eyes. Keith hadn’t realized how _tired_ he looks. “But you need to know that this may all be for nothing.” 

Lance grinds his teeth and turns to look at the ceiling. “I will do all I can to get you back, even if I have to smuggle you out, but it’s very likely we’ll meet resistance along the way.” 

“Because I’m Galra?” Keith refuses to acknowledge the little twinge in his heart that feels like betrayal. He should have expected this. 

Lance nods. “Because you’re Galra.” He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck, this whole thing is fucking stupid,” he snaps. His arms flop back down to the bed and he looks at Keith. 

“What did you ever do to deserve such treatment?” He searches Keith’s features like he's physically looking for a difference. “You’re hardly any different from us.” He shakes his head and frowns. “The fuck is this war,” he mutters. 

Looking at Lance now, a teenager flopped across his bed with eyes too young to be that sad, Keith doesn’t know either. He'd thought war was in Altea's blood. And yet Lance is mourning. 

"You do not wish for the war to continue?" he asks softly, head tipping to the side.

Lance looks horrified. "No!” He snaps upright. “Stars, Keith, why would I want that?" There's something deeply hurt and angry in his eyes. Something in the expression is familiar but Keith can't quite place it. 

Lance scrubs a hand over his face, hiding his grief. "I don't even know what we're fighting for,” he grumbles.

He turns away from Keith, expression fractured. “I wonder if anyone does.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dance lessons! And we get some feels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got super out of hand so I’m splitting it to make editing easier.

Lance keeps Keith so busy between exercises to fix what he calls Keith’s “terrible posture”, etiquette, dance, genealogy, and political bullshit so complex Keith thinks it would be easier to navigate a maze, he loses track of the days. They bleed into weeks without his notice. 

It leaves him with very little time to continue exploring the castle and he loses focus of his mission. 

When Lance incorporates dance into their daily routine, Keith really loses what little free time he has. 

They get along better than Keith had expected. Other than one briefly tense moment where he'd touched the cloth covered bowl on Lance's dresser, there's been surprisingly little conflict between them. It's the only time Keith had seen Lance's eyes turn to steel. 

The bowl had housed a few odd trinkets and a lock of hair. They're knick-knacks and Keith doesn't understand why Lance would collect them. 

He’d gingerly replaced the cloth from where he'd pulled it back after Lance had politely threatened him, stubbornly refusing to elaborate. They never speak of it again. 

Admittedly, the dancing is something Keith struggles with at first. But only because he’s so tense. And the heels he has to wear are unfamiliar, throwing off his balance. Lance tries to teach him to lead at first but Keith is even more uncomfortable. Lance himself prefers to lead so much of their time together is Keith dancing with Taelyn and Lance correcting his posture over and over and over again. Not that any of it seems to stick. 

Lance finally gives up and taps Taelyn out, taking up Keith’s hands himself. Keith huffs, irritation creasing his face. 

“I’m not good at this,” he grumbles, Taelyn going to lounge in one of the chairs that line the ballroom.

“Yes you are.” Lance walks him through the steps again, Keith following even though he’s still in the leading position. “You just don’t know it yet.” He puts Keith through a very awkward spin, moving him into position so Lance can take the lead. 

“Switch,” he declares, stepping into Keith’s space and forcing him quickly through the same steps in reverse so he can’t over think it. Keith adapts easily, almost without thinking and Lance grins. 

“You forget I’ve seen you fight.” He steps back, extending the distance between them. “Turn. Weight on the ball of your foot to keep your balance.” Keith does, shifting his weight to keep his heel from sticking to the floor. 

“Good.” Lance draws him back in, his arm on Keith’s waist. Keith’s cheeks are warm. “You have amazing balance and grace,” Lance praises. “It’s just that this is unfamiliar. And we’re making you do it in heels.”

“Why is that again?” Keith stares at his feet, trying to remember the steps. His eyebrows come together in concentration. 

Lance tips his chin back up. “Eyes on me,” he reminds. “And because you’re petite.” 

Keith scowls and Lance laughs. “I’m just as tall as you are.” He refuses to admit to how petulant he sounds. 

“True, but your proportions are more stocky. Giving you heels changes your silhouette. Most Alteans with a build like yours are much taller. You literally look like you were built to be a battering ram. So we have to make you taller.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “That’s utter nonsense,” he grumbles as Lance leads him through a combination and Lance shrugs.

“Fine, it’s because your ass looks amazing in heels.”

Keith flushes and stumbles, falling into Lance’s chest as he catches him, keeping him from eating shit. 

“And it helps fix your posture. You have a tendency to stand with your hips back.” He fixes Keith’s hand on his shoulder, straightening the jacket across his shoulders. 

“It’s better for your posture to stand with your hips tucked under,” he explains “The heels naturally force you to bend your knees, fixing that.”

Keith narrows his eyes, his cheeks still red. “You spend all your time staring at my ass?” he accuses, not sure what else to say.

The tips of Lance’s ears are red. “Maybe.” His expression is coy. “It’s a nice ass.” 

Keith’s flush darkens, the color striking against his fair skin. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lance doesn’t say what he’s thinking which is that Keith is gorgeous. His hair is healthy now instead of a tangled mat, hanging in a long braid down his back Lance did himself. It’s twisted into a tight rope that hugs the back of his skull, small flowers tucked into it. It had taken almost an hour for Lance to convince Keith to let him do it. 

He’s filled out in the past few weeks now that he has access to real food, the muscle and strength returning to his frame. He’s lethal and Lance knows it, same as the blade Keith keeps tucked against his lower back. Maybe that’s why Lance is so attracted to him. 

Taelyn snorts from behind them, snapping Lance out of his reverie. “Can you two stop flirting now?”

Keith scowls, his expression darkening and Lance misses the flustered pink to his cheeks. 

“No scowling,” he scolds, tapping at Keith’s forehead to smooth the wrinkle there. If it just so happens to bring those violet eyes back to him well, that’s just a bonus. 

“You’re gonna wrinkle.” 

Keith rolls his eyes but schools his expression, fixing his posture as Lance leads him through the steps again. 

He learns more quickly under Lance’s guidance, adapting to his cues and learning the combinations. Lance is right, it’s a lot like fighting. Once he knows what to look for. 

After that Lance takes over teaching Keith to dance entirely. Taelyn seems rather putout but doesn’t say anything. Keith is relieved to have his wandering hands off him. He’d thought the fingers brushing against his ass were an accident when it happened but once he switches to Lance, it never happens again. 

Taelyn had held him all but trapped against his chest, their hips slotted together in a way that made Keith terribly uncomfortable. His eyes had been lecherous and Keith felt dirty after every session. 

In contrast Lance had held him close but it was more like he cradled him in his arms. Keith had the space he needed to breathe without moving far enough away to miss Lance’s bodily cues. His grip had been relaxed but confident, his hands never wandering past Keith’s waist and if they ever dropped to his hip he gave fair warning. 

Overall Keith felt respected when he danced with Lance. He felt...safe. And he’d felt like an equal. Taelyn made him feel like a slave or a prisoner all over again. Like property instead of a person. He held Keith like he owned him and Keith hated it. He’d expected to hate dancing with Lance too. He was startled to find he didn’t. 

The sessions they get to dance together rapidly become something Keith looks forward to. 

Eventually, Taelyn stops joining them. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaangst. And protective Lance and angry Keith and soft Keith and hurt/comfort and communication. All the things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all ready for some emotional whiplash?

Keith has been stuck in a meeting with Taelyn for what feels like years. Everyone is talking in circles and saying nothing. It's a wonder Alteans manage to accomplish anything. Why can't someone make a decision and be done with it? He doesn't understand. 

His nails dig into his palms behind his back and he spends the entire session grinding his teeth and trying to tune it out.

They're finally able to leave and Keith sets his jaw against a snappish remark, headed for the training room and away from Taelyn. It's the one place he feels at least slightly more comfortable. Without meaning to it had become his sanctuary. 

If the dancing sessions were his favorite, then the politics with Taelyn were his least favorite. 

Keith does his best to exercise patience the way Lance keeps encouraging him to but he’s ready to leave. He can feel a dull pain throbbing in his jaw as Taelyn falls into step beside him. 

"So, what did you think of the meeting?" 

Keith swallows back the acid anger in his throat. "It was a meeting." 

"I'm sorry," Taelyn mocks, "were the words too much for you? I can explain if you'd like." 

He starts off on this tangent and Keith's ears are ringing. He is so sick of all the _noise_. 

"Do you people never shut up?" he snaps, whirling on him. He’s at the last of his tolerance.

Taelyn's mouth flickers, the corner lifting in a small smile. Keith can't tell if it's mocking or if the man is sincerely delighted by Keith's outburst. 

“I am so sick of you people and your words!” Keith snaps. “You never _do_ anything. It’s always all talk. Are you all a people of words and no deeds?” he demands, dark eyes hard. “If you want something show me!” He gestures sharply. “You are full of empty promises and I am tired of you talking in circles.” 

Keith doesn’t know what he’s expecting but it isn’t for Taelyn to kiss him. It startles him for a moment into freezing. And then he twists away in a fury, hell bent on decking him. 

“I do not _belong_ to you!” he shouts. “I am not your property!” Taelyn ignores him and Keith seethes, ready to tear his throat out. He tears back, lifting his fist.

Lance is there, yanking him away by the collar. 

“Now now,” Lance scolds. “We don’t kiss people without permission.” He smiles lazily, his eyes on Taelyn but the grip on Keith’s collar strangling. “Not even Galran half breeds.” Keith sneers at him, dragging a hand over his mouth, trying to scrub away the feeling of Taelyn’s lips on his own. 

Deft fingers release his collar. The jibe stings. More than it should. He’d thought- Keith grinds the thought beneath his heel before he can finish it. 

Taelyn spits at Lance’s feet, cheeks red, swearing at him in Altean before marching away. 

Lance waits until he’s gone before turning to Keith, hands in his pockets. A deep breath leaves him, fingers uncurling from something hidden beneath his robes. 

“Are you alright?”

Keith snarls, fangs flashing. He is in no mood to deal with any of them right now. Keith has reached his limit. 

He curses at Lance in Galran, spitting at his feet as well.

Lance just stares at him flatly.

“Now that’s just rude. Insult me all you want but leave my mother out of it.” 

Keith startles, the comment giving him pause and he abruptly straightens. His surprise is enough to break through the haze of rage. 

“You speak Galran?”

Lance is still scowling, looking like a storm cloud rolling in over the mountains. 

“Yes.” His expression darkens. “And you have every reason to be angry right now, especially at me, and to lash out. But you leave my mother out of it.” 

Keith doesn’t know what to make of that. That defensive anger, the desire to protect his family…it’s almost Galran. Keith didn’t know Alteans cared for their family the same way. 

If another Galra had said to him what Keith had just said to Lance, he would have killed him.

Keith is still furious, claws flexing and he feels his fangs in his mouth. He glares down the hall, forcing thoughts of Lance from his head.

“And you people call us the savages,” he snaps. “If he were Galran I’d have every right to tear his throat out for touching me without my permission. Such a thing is not tolerated.” 

Lance looks at him, eyebrows lifting as his head tips, both curious and surprised. “It isn’t?”

Keith makes a face. “No.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it ever would be. Lance stares off after Taelyn. 

“And how would the Galra handle such an offense?” He seems genuinely curious. 

“By killing him.”

Lance blinks in surprise. “Isn’t that a little...extreme?”

“Of course not. When a limb becomes infected you remove it. You don’t allow it to continue to spread and infect what still functions. He would never be tolerated in our society, left to walk free, spreading fear among the others, tainting their ability to trust one another. Such an infection is intolerable. He would be removed and with him the fear he has caused.

“We’re a social people and the violation of that trust is unthinkable. Each member of our society must rely on the other. A break in that chain is so violent and unthinkable and detrimental to its social group, the only way to answer it is by removing what would be a constant source of distrust. He would not be tolerated.” 

Lance hums thoughtfully, both over everything Keith has said and the fact he’s spoken so much. His sentences are usually short, almost clipped at times but this had been an explanation driven by anger. It’s the most Lance has ever heard him say at once. 

He looks down the hall again. “Pretty sure I like the Galran method more," he mutters. 

Keith wasn’t expecting that and it brings him up short. He'd thought Lance and Taelyn were friends. “What do your people do?” 

Lance shrugs, his expression darkening. “Depends on how rich the person is,” he mutters. “Lord Creeper Fingers would maybe be told-off with a warning if you were Altean.” His jaw flexes. “But you’re not. So I doubt anyone would care.” There’s a tension in his shoulders that finally eases as he lets out a sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“At this point he’d simply deny having ‘sullied himself’ by touching you.” Lance shakes his head, the line of his shoulders tense. “It’s bullshit.” 

“Are you telling me you don’t think I deserved it?” Keith snarls. “That he didn’t have the _right_ to do as he pleased? To touch me without my permission?”

Lance whirls on him. “Of course not! You’re a person and no one _deserves_ to be assaulted, I don’t give a fuck who or what they are.” There’s a deep rage in his eyes. “You are not anyone’s property.”

Keith stares at him through narrowed eyes, his gaze sharp and accessing. This is not the first time Lance has said something to make him feel... 

“You talk about me like I’m an equal. Not something beneath you to be trod upon.” He gestures sharply back down the hall with his chin. “Not like them. Why?” he demands. 

Lance runs a hand down his face, a deep sigh escaping him. He slides his hand back into his pockets. “Because you’re a sentient being and the Alteans are not superior to any other species, no matter what they like to think. 

“The bloody arrogance,” Lance mutters. His eyes lift to meet Keith’s. “It needs to change. The war needs to end. The whole thing seems to stem from a stubborn lack of communication and willful misunderstanding.” 

Exhaustion tugs at his shoulders, dragging them down and he leans against the wall, tipping his head into it. 

“And how would you end such a thing?” Keith ventures to ask, the words a little less biting but still thick with anger. His fangs have receded but his fingers still twitch restlessly. 

Lance’s voice goes low and he hangs his head, scuffing at the floor. “I don’t know. Someone smarter than me will think of a way. An advisor maybe.” He looks at Keith. “All I said was it needed to end, not that I knew how to do it.” 

“You don’t wish to pursue the conflict?”

Lance snorts. “No one should _want_ war, Keith. I’ve told you that.” He rubs at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"We're not starved for violence, contrary to what you might have heard. We are tired as a people." Lance’s shoulders sag. "So many have died in this war.

"I don’t want to inherit that. I don't want violence to be my legacy.” He sighs heavily, slumping against the wall. His eyes burn. “Not that I have a choice.” His head tips back, resting against the pale stone.

Keith pauses, trying to understand what Lance is saying. Why would _he_ be the one to inherit the war? Wouldn't that fall to the prince?

“I don’t want to be the one who decides who lives and who dies," Lance murmurs, heedless to Keith’s confusion. His head bumps against the wall a little harder and Keith frowns.

“There has to be a way,” Lance murmurs, eyes searching the ceiling. “But every time we’ve reached out to extend an offer of peace to the Galra, we’ve been turned away.” He tips his head to look at Keith. His eyes are sad. “Can you blame us?”

Keith scowls. “We have never been offered such a thing. Your people attack us at every turn, forcing engagements that slaughter us.”

Lance’s head snaps up. “What?” 

“We have tried to withdraw for years," Keith snaps, voice rising, "only to be relentlessly pursued and cut down, like we're nothing more than savage animals. 

“Villages razed, cities burned,” he hisses. His fists are shaking at his sides. “My own mother-” He bites off the words, the hate dripping from his mouth. He nearly bites his tongue when his fangs snap back out again. He’s always had a hard time controlling when he’s angry.

Lance’s breath is shallow in horror. He can hear the deep bass of blood pulsing in his ears. 

“What?” His knees grow weak. “That can’t-” Fear grips him and he pales before turning and hurrying for the library. Keith grinds his teeth but follows a moment later. He has nowhere else to go. 

When he reaches the door Lance is already yanking books from shelves, tossing them onto the table and flipping them open. 

“This.” He jabs at a page. “The conflict on Xalanth. It was twenty phebes ago. A bridge was blown, isolating the city, trapping _everyone_ on the island. The supports were blown and the entire thing sank into the fucking ocean.” He tries not to let the grief taint his voice with anger. He’d lost a number of friends that day. 

“That is _not_ what happened,” Keith snaps. “We infiltrated the city on suspicion of a weapon designed to target a mass number of our population based on our most common genetics. It would have ravaged Daibazal like a plague. 

“When we reached the core the _Alteans_ blew the bridge and sank the city, trying to drown _us_.”

Lance’s heart pounds so fast it leaves him light headed. He flips through book after book, reciting conflicts and skirmishes, Keith correcting him at every turn until he feels sick.

By the time Lance has picked his fifth battle his knees are weak. He sinks into the chair, covering his face with his hands and cries. 

Keith stands awkwardly beside him. 

“So many lives,” Lance chokes. “And for what?” He looks to Keith for answers. “Why are they so different? Who’s- who benefits from this?" He stares at the chaotic array of his own history scattered across the desk. 

"Do we even _know_ what really happened?” He shoves the books from the desk and they skitter across the floor, their pages wrinkling. 

“Have the Galra ever tried to reach out to us?” Lance asks, desperate for answers. Part of him is terrified the answer is yes. 

Keith scowls before the tension between his eyebrows smooths. “Yes,” he says softly. “Multiple times. We were met with silence.” 

Lance’s eyes squeeze shut and his head falls. “Someone is lying to us both,” he chokes, “filling our ears with lies, feeding the conflict.” The truth of it settles heavy in Keith's gut. He knows Lance is right. 

It goes against everything he's ever been taught but maybe…

If there's even a _chance_ for peace, they have to try. 

“We have to get your father and the Primarch of Daibazal in the same room. Something is _wrong._ ” Lance looks up at him. “Stop using go betweens. There must be direct contact.”

Lance doesn’t know how they became sudden allies but Keith is right. Something is desperately out of place. And they may be the only ones who know. 

“How? They’re more likely to kill each other than listen to us let alone each other. _We_ nearly did.” He gestures sharply between them.

“I don’t know,” Keith hedges. “What about the coronation?” He searches Lance’s face for a reaction, testing his theory. “Could you do something then?” 

Lance sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He smiles wryly. “If I survive that long.” Lance sinks back into his chair with a sigh, expression listless and wan.

“How am I supposed to fix centuries worth of hatred?” He looks at Keith like somehow he’ll have the answers. 

Keith doesn’t know. He shakes his head. “I’m just a soldier,” he says softly. “I don’t know.” 

Lance tries to smile but it’s weak. “I don’t want this war. I want peace. More than anything.”

Keith believes him. After all he’s seen of Lance, even in their short time together, he believes it.

In that moment Keith makes up his mind. He changes his mission. Or maybe it stays the same. The outcome had been to end the war. That originally had been by assassinating the prince. Who turned out to be dead already. And if Marcellus had been anything like his brother, Keith doubts their information on him had been reliable. 

He sinks into the chair next to Lance. “You’re Leonan Tylell,” he says softly.

Lance lifts his head, tears on his cheeks. “Yeah.” His voice is thick. “I thought you knew that.”

Keith’s heart sinks and he stares at the young, heartbroken man in front of him. Nothing makes sense. 

He shakes his head. “No.” His mind is a convoluted web of contradictions he can’t tell apart from the truth anymore. So he wipes the slate of his mind blank and starts over.

Keith stares at him, the gears in his mind turning. Lance is so many things, all of them different than what he’d expected, than he’d been looking for. He probably should have put it together before now. All the indicators were there. Maybe he just didn’t want to see it. 

“Will you tell me about you?” he asks, so much rage bleeding out of his heart. Lance is not the prince he’d been expecting.

“What?” Lance wipes at his face. 

“If our histories about each other are such a tangled mess of lies what else is?” His eyes are dark but sincere. “If we want them to listen to us, to break the cycle, we have to start somewhere. Why not here?” He gestures between them before tapping one of the books still on the desk. 

“Our people haven’t spoken to one another on equal ground for...I don’t know how long.” He scratches at the cover of the book with a nail. “Why not start with us?” Lance’s eyes flick back and forth between Keith’s. “Tell me about _you_ ,” Keith insists. “Because I know the things I’ve heard aren’t true.”

Lance blanches. “What _have_ you heard?” 

Keith feels shame wash through him, loathing the way he’d felt about the youngest Prince of Altea before knowing him. He’d thought everyone in the Tylell family was heartless and cruel. 

“That you were a tyrant,” he says softly. “Like your father and those who came before you. That you sought to subjugate us. That the war profited you. That Altea was built on the blood of their enemies.” 

Lance wants to cry. “I’m not-”

“I know.” He touches Lance’s knee briefly then withdraws his hand. “But I didn’t. And neither do they. We’ve never met you.” He holds Lance’s gaze. “Especially because of the war. It makes such a thing impossible." He watches Lance intensely, changing tactic, starting smaller. 

“You are not what I expected. Nor anything like the man I was told would ascend the throne. I did not know Marcellus was your brother.” A little furrow creases his brow. “Your name was not in the registry.”

To his surprise Lance blushes. “It’s, uh-“ He scratches the back of his head, tears still damp on his cheeks.. “Lance is a nickname. Training accident gone wrong.”

Keith slowly lifts an eyebrow. “How?”

Lance makes a face. “I may have impaled my instructor. But it’s okay, he’s fine!” He waves his hands trying to ward off any potential concern. “But the nickname stuck. And my father hates it so, bonus.”

In spite of everything, Keith laughs, shaking his head. The amusement helps clear the air for a moment. 

“You are very lucky you go by the nickname instead of-“ He snaps his mouth closed, all traces of laughter vanishing. 

Lance stares at him, confusion knitting his brows together. “Were you…” His lips part, searching for words. “You said you were an assassin,” he says slowly and he can see the gears in Lance’s mind grinding. “That all the Blades are.” He searches Keith’s eyes until guilt makes Keith look away.

“You were sent to kill me,” he whispers. “Like the others.” It wouldn’t be the first attempt made on his life since the death of his family. He’d thought the attacks were meant for his father. 

Keith looks away, hanging his head. 

“You were,” Lance says again, daring Keith to deny it.

“I was sent for your brother,” Keith admits. “When I discovered he was dead I turned my sights on the last surviving member of the Tylell line.” His eyes flick between Lance’s. “I did not know he was you.”

Lance doesn’t know why he feels betrayed. They’re not friends but Lance had hoped that maybe…he crushes the thought before it can grow.

“Would it have made a difference?” There’s a hard edge to his words. 

Keith’s eyebrows come together in a dark scowl as he struggles with himself. He doesn’t know. 

His silence says as much and Lance nods, biting back the pain.

“And now?” he asks, the words sticking in his throat. A part of him knows if Keith really wanted to kill him he’d have done it by now. Not that it’s helping assuage the fear in his chest.

“Now that you know it’s me?” Lance searches the shape of Keith slouched next to him. “Are you still going to complete your mission?”

Keith lifts his head, his expression somber. “I think I will make up my own mind from now on,” he murmurs. His eyes flick back and forth between Lance's. "If I still wanted to kill you...I would have done it by now.” 

Lance feels his heart swell in spite of words that should leave him cold. Maybe there’s hope after all. 

“You really think we can get them to talk to each other?” He asks softly. “I have tried to convince my father to reach out, to send representatives to offer up a truce, to trade prisoners, _anything_.

“We’ve either never heard from them or had their heads sent back in boxes.” He hangs his head. “He won’t listen to me anymore,” Lance says softly. “Especially not-” His breath hitches and he blinks back tears. 

It takes him a moment to gather himself before he can continue. "A shuttle was shot down." He has to fight to keep his voice steady. "Three deca-phoebes ago.” Lance’s lips tremble. “My family was on it.”

Horror dawns on Keith’s face as he puts the clues together. The empty hall Lance is living in, his father wanting him to move, the ‘deceased’ listed next to every name in his family line.

“You’re still living in the family wing,” Keith says softly. 

Lance nods and sniffles. “Yeah. I can’t-” He swipes at his cheeks. “It’s like if I move out they’re really dead. I can’t leave them behind. I don’t know how.”

Keith keens, his eyes slipping closed as he presses a hand over his heart. He knows the grief of losing family all too well. No one should have to suffer that fate, Galran, Altean, or otherwise. Not like that.

“I’m sorry.” 

Lance’s eyes burn. “Me too.” He shakes his head slowly. “I’m all that’s left.” His lips press together and he struggles not to cry. “This wasn’t supposed to be mine. I was the youngest of _five_ Keith. It’s not-” He takes a deep breath, composing himself before he meets Keith’s eyes. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits. “I’m not prepared for this. Three deca-phoebes isn’t long enough to learn.”

Keith's knee is bouncing rhythmically and he bites his lip. It's such a small thing but Lance has never seen Keith twitch or jitter before. It makes him less threatening. 

"May I ask you something?" There's caution in his eyes and his voice is soft. "It is none of my business. But I am curious."

"Alright," Lance says warily, shifting in his seat. 

"The knick knacks. On your dresser." Lance's jaw twitches but he doesn't look away. "What are they?" 

He's seen Lance touch the cloth covering them almost reverently but he never takes them out. Never touches them. There's almost something reverent in the way he treats it. 

Keith thinks he knows why...but he needs Lance to say it.

Lance licks his lips and clears his throat. "Mementos," he says softly. "The lock of hair is my mother's.” Keith closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He was right. 

“The intertwined rings were Luis's. He'd fiddle with them under the table when he was restless. It helped him think." Lance drops his eyes, staring at his fingers twisting themselves into knots in his lap. 

"The hair pin was Raquelle's favorite. She'd wear it all the time and the medal belonged to Valencia. She was a commander in our military and the first I lost. She died in a skirmish." He looks at Keith. "She's the only one we have a body for." He swallows thickly and wipes a hand over his cheek. 

Lance takes a deep, wet breath and it trembles. "The survivors carried her burned body back home, wrapped in a cloak the color of dark wine. We laid her in the family crypt. She was awarded a medal for bravery that my father gave to me. I didn't want the medal but it's all I have. I wanted my sister back, but it’s all I have.” His lips tremble. “Valencia was always rather spare with her things.” There wasn’t much else to remember her by.”

He clears his throat. “The brooch with the pin through it belonged to Marcellus. He wore it to affix his cloak over his shoulder. It had been a gift from our mother.

"There's an entire crypt beneath the palace for our family. And now several of them will always be empty. I take no comfort in that." 

Keith's fingers rest faintly on Lance's knee. He doesn't apologize, just holds Lance's gaze. 

"Tell me more." 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance are finally on the same page and things start to get soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple chapters are edited and ready to go so speedy updates! Enjoy the bonding! Also cultural explanations.

Keith spends the next several hours telling Lance about Daibazal, himself, anything and everything he can think of. From holidays and celebrations to their own filtered versions of the war. 

Rumors, superstitions among the Galra, games he played as a child, anything. Keith answers every question Lance puts to him and vice versa. 

He hesitates only when Lance asks him about the Blades, but only for a moment. 

“The Blades are unique in their mindset of the mission over the individual,” he explains. “The only outlier where we care more about completing our objective than protecting each other.

“Every member swears off living, becomes a ghost, willing to die because they are already dead.” 

Lance pouts in thought. “And that’s what you are?”

Keith nods. “Our lives are not returned to us until the mission is complete.” His words hang heavy in the air. “And the mission is never complete. Every member knows one day they will die.”

“You give up your families for that?”

Keith looks away, his leg beginning to bounce again. “Many of us no longer have families to lose.”

A somber reminder of the way Keith had grieved when Lance had shared his own loss. 

“I’m sorry.”

Keith shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Keith makes a sound almost like a laugh but it’s humorless. He briefly meets Lance’s eyes and smiles sadly. 

Lance redirects the conversation. He doesn’t have the energy for any more grief.

“How do your soldiers fight?” he asks curiously. “I’ve heard stories. For every Galra killed it’s like three more appear. A ceaseless wave as overwhelming as the sea. And I’ve seen the way you move,” he breathes. He shakes his head in wonder. “I had no idea you were that fast. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“We’re a close knit family of soldiers who rely on one another. A woven net of connectivity. When one member falls, another slips in to fill the void,” Keith explains. “Our tactics are flexible. We’re trained to adapt to any loss, whether our numbers are a hundred or only one.”

Lance shakes his head. “It’s a wonder we’ve managed to hold out against you for as long as we have. Our army is much more rigid and strict.”

“What you lack in tactics, your people more than make up for in alchemy, your raw strength, and your ability to shapeshift. I can’t count the number of spies we’ve found that were Altean.”

Lance blinks at him in surprise. “How do you find them? They’re trained for espionage. They’re not  _ meant _ to be found.”

Keith laughs, the sound soft and almost fond. “You're very obvious,” he says gently. “We know each other well. And your people know nothing of our behaviour or social structures.” His eyes are teasing. “You make very poor Galra.”

Lance smiles wryly. “From what I’ve heard? I’m not surprised.” He scratches at the wood grain in the table, a habit he seems to have picked up from Keith. 

He thinks back to the day he’d seen Keith in the training room. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

“Do you remember,” Lance asks carefully. “That day in the training room?”

Keith nods. “I remember.”

“Will you teach me?” Keith startles are the abruptness of the question. 

"To fight?" he clarifies.

“Please? My father won’t teach me beyond archery and how to use a pistol for target practice.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I’m pretty useless when it comes to hand to hand. Especially after my last training accident.” He blushes again. 

“You’d think he’d let me learn some basic combat considering we’re in a war. But after the shuttle was shot down...he’s kind of put me on lockdown. I’m not allowed to leave the castle or go anywhere without an armed guard. We’re lucky he’s letting me spend any amount of time with you unsupervised.” He rolls his eyes. “Training to be a fighter pilot was far more dangerous than any kind of combat. And now I can’t even do that.”

Keith studies him carefully, weighing what he knows about Lance now, to what he’d been told. So much of what he knows is sacred, secret to the Blades.

“I can’t teach you everything,” he hedges. “Much of what we’re trained to do is…” He struggles to find an appropriate word. “Secret?” He doesn’t know if that’s right but it’s all he’s got. “It’s specific to the Blades, sacred in a way. So I guess it depends. What do you want to know?”

Lance’s face brightens. “You could teach me how to throw a decent punch?”

Keith snorts. The request is so small how could he deny it. “Yeah. Yeah I can do that.” 

~

After that night things between them change. There’s less hostility and they spend more and more time together. They actually become what Lance would call friends.

Not that they weren’t before. There’d been far less tension between them than Lance expected, especially considering how they’d met, but Keith had never let him get too close, at least not emotionally. Now he’s so open and trusting it leaves Lance reeling. He’s warm and funny and Lance looks forward to the time they spend together. Far more than he should. 

Their lessons continue but as the gala draws closer he finds himself less than eager for it to approach. He doesn’t want his time with Keith to come to an end. 

Lance doesn’t have many close friends and it’s odd to have Keith of all people become one of them. But he’s rapidly become someone Lance doesn’t want to lose. 

There’s a small ball being held before the gala and Lance hopes to give Keith a brief introduction to the court to prepare him for the larger celebration. A trial run to make him comfortable. He won’t have as much of a safety net at the gala.

In between their lessons, Keith teaches Lance everything he can about the Galra and vice versa. Lance had been teaching him about etiquette, the family bloodlines, proper greetings, manners, etc. But now he includes everything else he can think of, the two of them trying to level the playing field between their peoples. 

There are so many rumors, blatant lies, misinformation, and cultural miscommunications and they barrel through all of them head first. Keith wants to be able to take what he’s learned back to Daibazal for the Emperor while Lance speaks with his father. It seems impossible that two people could end a war that’s been going on longer than they’ve been alive. But peace has to start somewhere. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparring practice!

Lance is a fast learner and Keith finds he enjoys sparring with a partner. The guards are not pleased with the idea, especially when Keith lands a hard blow to Lance’s face. Lance has to bodily shove them away as they try to force Keith to the ground. But he gives as good as he gets. 

Keith learns that Lance is stubborn to a fault, that he pushes himself too hard in both the library and the training room. He doesn’t know how to back down from a fight. 

While that’s something Keith admires, he hopes one day Lance learns when to walk away. 

~

The first time Lance blocks one of Keith’s punches, knocking it to the side and clamping a hand around his throat, Keith is stunned. Lance’s momentum drives Keith back into the wall. He’d forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings, Lance effectively backing him into a corner. He'd also forgotten just how strong Alteans were.

Keith’s hands clamp down on Lance’s arm, his fingers like a steel trap around Keith’s throat as he struggles to draw breath. Darkness fuzzes his vision, the heavy pounding of his pulse leaving him dizzy.

There’s a determined fire in Lance’s eyes before he realizes what’s happening. He quickly lets go and backs away, Keith’s heels sinking into the ground where Lance had been holding him aloft.

Keith devolves into a coughing fit, gasping for air as Lance panics. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. I- are you okay?” Lance fusses, a hand to Keith’s back as he struggles to breathe. 

Keith waves him off, finally lifting his head. There’s a wide grin on his face and Lance feels wrong-footed. 

“You did good,” he praises, his eyes sparkling. “You broke my guard.” Keith grins, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. “I’m proud of you.” 

Lance stares at him blankly, still struggling to wrap his head around the fact Keith isn’t mad at him. That and the realization he's never seen Keith smile.

“Are you okay?”

Keith laughs, the sound going straight to Lance’s gut and turning to butterflies. “Yes, Lance. I’m okay. It is the hope of every teacher that one day their students will be able to hurt them. It means we have taught them well.” 

Lance bites his lip, eyes flicking down to the red finger prints he’s left behind on Keith’s throat. He can’t say he’s fond of the idea of hurting Keith, but it makes sense. 

“I understand.”

“Good.” Keith nods in approval. “Now, if you want to knock out your opponent without killing them, apply pressure here, and here.” He takes Lance’s hand, putting it back over his throat and pressing his fingers down in the appropriate places. “Keep the pressure off their windpipe. You want to cut off the flow of blood to their brain, not their breath. 

“If you want to hurt them, apply pressure with your palm.” He pulls Lance’s hand back, running his finger over the middle of his hand. “Here. If you want to hit them with a single blow and not grapple, use the inside of your hand, here." Lance struggles to focus past the warmth of Keith's fingers against his hand.

"Strike hard, strike fast. It’ll incapacitate them and either buy you time to run or finish them off.” 

Lance nods dumbly, trying to absorb the information but it's difficult. He's never seen Keith smile, not like that. He's having a very hard time concentrating on anything other than the way his face had lit up.

“Good. Now, the real question.” Lance looks at him curiously as Keith puts more space between them. He seems almost giddy. “Can you do it again?” 

The challenge in his voice sets Lance’s blood on fire. He’s never met anyone who truly enjoyed spending time with him. No one who Lance felt could keep up with him. Most people are terribly bored or polite and Lance can’t stand it. 

Keith on the other hand is blunt and honest, rising to meet Lance at every turn. It’s refreshing in a way Lance didn’t know he needed. 

He moves back to the center of the room. “If I can do it once, I can do it again.”

Keith’s grin is a marvel, fingers flexing in excitement. “Prove it.”

~

By the end of the week Keith has a dark ring of bruises around his throat which he is more than happy to display. Lance can’t help but smother a laugh every time someone in the court is shocked or scandalized. 

Keith takes great pride in them and some part of Lance finds it endearing. And if Lance can’t help thinking about putting them there in another context he’ll never tell. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s first trial run at a small party and Lance realizes he needs new friends.

Keith’s first party goes...not necessarily well, but better than expected. He’d been visibly uncomfortable around so many people but the knife at his back had helped. Lance had stayed close, offering comfort via his presence and guided him through the more difficult encounters. Keith had been surprised to find it worked. Lance at least was known and familiar. 

His conversations are stilted and awkward but Lance is there to smooth things over where need be or to pick up his slack. He manages to keep his cool through the entire party until Lance starts to fall into conversation with Taelyn. 

He’s been drinking a little off and on socially. Keith has been holding a glass to keep up appearances but he’s not overly fond of Altean alcohol. There’s no body to it, the whole thing overly sweet. It tickles his nose. Lance is almost two glasses in and the more he drinks the note Keith scowls.

He sets his own untouched glass on a tray as a servant passes by and crosses his arms.

Holding his gaze Lance bites his lip, setting his glass back on the tray, deciding he’s had enough. He remembers what Keith had told him that first night about doing better.  _ Being _ better. 

Keith is standing across the room looking less than approachable and Lance decides he’s been patient enough. They’ve been socializing long enough he can have mercy and escort Keith back to the room. Before he can say as much, Taelyn’s voice is cutting through the mental fog.

“I have to admit,” Taelyn says idly, his eyes on Keith. “You’ve done well with him.” 

Lance’s head snaps back around to face him. “What?” 

Taelyn’s eyes sparkle over the rim of his glass. “He’s rather lovely for an animal.” Lance feels like he’s been slapped. His brain struggles to process the words, to catch up but before he can form a reply Taelyn is speaking again. 

“Is he as good in bed as he looks?” He takes a sip of his nectar wine, dark eyes raking over Keith in a way Lance doesn’t like. 

“Excuse me?” Something rancid curls Lance’s stomach and his cheeks heat. Fury and embarrassment burn through him and the crystal glass in his hand trembles. “He’s a person,” Lance spits, “not an animal.”

Taelyn waves off Lance’s tone. “Yes, yes, but he’s Galran.” He gives Lance a look like they’re sharing a secret and Lance feels sick. He sets his glass down on a nearby tray before it can shatter in his fist. 

“Think I’m gonna call it a night,” Lance says flatly.

Taelyn rolls his eyes. “Seriously? All because your Galran pet scowled at you? I know he thinks you drink too much.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Taelyn is a lot more tolerable when they’re  _ both _ drinking. 

“He’s not a  _ pet _ .” Venom drips from his lips and Lance can feel the sharp bite of his nails pressing against his palm. “He’s a person. And he has a name.” 

At that moment Lance doesn’t know why they’re friends. They have very little in common and in that moment Lance decides he doesn’t have to tolerate Taelyn’s presence. 

“And I think I’d prefer his company over yours right now.” He steps away from Taelyn with a scowl, heading to where Keith is waiting across the room. 

Lance opens the door leading out to one of the main halls, turning to glare at Taelyn before ushering Keith through ahead of him. It draws a number of curious stares before Lance follows a moment later, slamming the door behind him. 

Keith shifts uncomfortably as Lance seethes. The slamming of the door echoes down the stone corridor in front of them. His shoulders are tense, hands curled into tight fists, his eyes adjusting to the sudden dark.

“What an asshole,” he grinds out, trying to control his temper. He looks at Keith. “You were right. I need better friends,” he grumbles. 

Seeing the look on Keith’s face Lance’s temper rapidly cools and he straightens. “What?”

Keith shifts awkwardly. “You’ve never...sent me through a door first,” he murmurs like he isn’t sure where they stand at the moment. 

Lance’s head tips sideways, not understanding. “What?”

Keith takes a breath, hands clasped formally behind his back and meets Lance’s eyes. 

“Why did you open the door for me?” He searches Lance’s gaze, dark eyes assessing. A moment later his expression clarifies, seemingly finding an answer there. 

“Ah, you were- being respectful.” He nods, as if answering his own question. He makes his way down the hall, Lance by his side, still confused.

“Is this another cultural thing?” he asks. His face falls. “Did I screw it up again?” 

Keith touches his arm gently. “No, not at all. You were being kind, making a statement to everyone in the room.” His head tips curiously. Lance has to lift his head to meet Keith’s gaze. The heels have made him taller now. 

“Were you trying to make me an equal?”

“I was trying to-” Lance gestures awkwardly, fumbling over the words before giving up and nodding. It's a more articulate explanation than he can come up with.

“Yes. I was.” He searches Keith’s eyes. “Did I insult you instead?”

Keith smiles. “Only if we had been on Daibazal,” he says softly. His eyes are warm and there’s a true sense of calm to his demeanor. Instead of the forced version he’d been putting on for the court. He’s genuinely relaxed around Lance. 

“But we are not on Daibazal.” He pauses, seeing the curiosity on Lance’s face, the desire to learn. Once he'd been suspicious of such a thing. Now he explains readily. 

“The Galra tend to send those of the lowest rank into a room first. They are the shields. If an attack is going to come, it usually comes from the front. Our guards will be the first to go down as opposed to our emperor or someone of higher rank. Previously you’ve always gone into a room ahead of him. I had assumed it was for my own protection.” A small smile pulls distractingly at his mouth. “The irony is rather amusing now.”

“So the last person to enter a room is the most important,” Lance says thoughtfully.

Keith nods. “Yes.”

Lance comes to an abrupt stop, his eyes wide. “Shit. We do it backwards.” Their eyes meet. “We send our highest ranking officer or diplomat through first to showcase them.” Lance wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Which is really stupid and performative of us now that I think about it.” Keith tries to hide his smile. 

“Think I like the Galra way more,” Lance mutters. He makes a mental note of that to change it later. One of many things he'd like to change once he becomes the reigning monarch.

He lets out a deep sigh, heading for his room. Keith falls into step beside him. 

“Well, will you meet me halfway in a compromise?” He searches Keith’s eyes. “Will you walk into rooms  _ with _ me? Instead of before or after?” 

Keith feels something in his chest warm at the offer, at the willingness to incite change. He’s heard Lance say it a thousand times, but to hear him offer up a real solution, a physical  _ change _ ...it makes his heart swell with pride. 

He inclines his head in respect. “I would be honored. Though I doubt your doors are wide enough to accommodate us both,” he says playfully. It makes his eyes sparkle.

Lance smiles back. “Then I will have them widened.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re all agreed we hate Tae correct?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short reprieve before the Gala. And SOFT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is barely edited because it showed up overnight but my head hurts too much to do anymore with it.

The last few days before the gala pass in a whirlwind. Keith is measured, fitted, and tailored into a suit for the ball. There’s nothing but talk of his hair, his skin, his clothes for hours on end. He understands very little of it, fabrics swatched before the seamstresses vanish as quickly as they’d come. Keith is unable to make heads or tails of it. It’s a lot of white.

Lance blindfolds him as they run the last of the fit tests to make sure everything is the way it should be. When Keith questions the blindfold Lance says it’s a surprise. 

They’re all strung tight as the day approaches. The night before the final Gala, Lance sneaks Keith through the castle. 

“Come on, I want to show you something.” 

“Where are we-”

“Shh,” Lance shushes, waving a hand at him. “I’m not supposed to be out of my room this late.” 

Keith gives him a withering look, coming to a stop as Lance opens the window. “You are a grown man,” he says flatly. 

“And the last surviving member of my family. If I don’t ascend the throne it’ll be chaos.” He says all this while slipping out his window and crawling onto the narrow ledge. 

Keith arches an eyebrow at him, arms crossed.

“Uh huh. Is that why you’re standing on the ledge of your window three hundred feet in the air in the middle of the night?”

“You want to explain our weird foray into the castle to the guards at the end of the hall? Or do you wanna sneak out to the secret passage in the room next door and go see something cool?” 

Keith tries and fails to suppress a smile. He shakes his head, arms falling loose to his sides. 

“I thought I was supposed to be the bad influence,” he mutters, crawling out of the window after Lance. 

Lance helps him up to make sure he has solid footing before winking. 

“Jokes on you,” he teases. “Now come on.” 

He shuffles to the nearby room, deftly sliding open the window before slipping inside. He helps Keith inside. 

“Do _not_ fall,” he teases. “It’s a long drop.” Lance’s eyes are sparkling in the dark but he squeezes Keith’s hand, holding on tight. It’s dark and while he knows Keith can see better in the dark than he can, the room is also more familiar to him. 

He draws Keith carefully inside, smothering a giggle as Keith bumps his head on the lip of the window. 

“Ow,” Keith hisses, covering the spot with a hand. 

“Oh you big baby.” Lance grabs him by the face, dragging his head down and kissing the top of Keith’s head where he’d bumped it. The dark has made him brave. 

“There. Better?” He ruffles Keith’s hair which is in a casual Galran braid, loose and wild the way Lance likes it. 

Keith grumbles, rubbing at the spot. “Yes,” he mutters. 

“Good.” Lance grins in triumph. “Now come on!”

He takes Keith’s hand, using the dark as an excuse to guide him to the secret passage and then the holoroom. Once there, he loads up a small cave on the coastline. 

“Ready?”

Keith’s head tips curiously at the small white room. 

“I mean, I guess.” He turns in a circle before his eyes land on Lance again. “But for what?” 

Lance presses a button on the display and the room around them dissolves into small sparks of light. They reform around them, forming a beach Keith recognizes. He’s seen it a dozen times from his favorite balcony. 

He turns and true enough, the castle is resting on a cliff behind them.

“Are we-” He takes several steps towards the nearest wall, arm outstretched. He goes several feet without making contact. “How-” He _knows_ there’s supposed to be a wall here. But he can’t find it. 

Lance watches him with fond amusement. 

Keith can smell the salt in the air, hear the waves, feel the spray on his skin. Even the grit of sand beneath his feet when he takes off his boots. He knows it’s a simulation. But it _feels_ real. It’s an eerie sensation. 

Lance kicks off his shoes and tosses them aside along with his blue jacket. The wind ruffles his hair, light catching through the stands. His eyes sparkle with mirth as he rolls up his pant legs. 

Keith is caught up in staring at him for a moment, Lance’s voice finally breaking through his reverie as he stands.

“Come on.” Lance runs through the waves crashing against the sand, throwing up spray and sand as he goes. 

Keith grins, his instinct to chase kicking in as he tears after Lance. He’s gaining on him, body coiled to leap. 

As if he can sense it, Lance feints to one side before spinning in the opposite direction a moment before Keith lunges. It leaves him with a mouthful of sand as he hits the ground. 

Lance’s laughter is bright as he backs away, leaving Keith to shake off the fall. He’s plastered in sand and water, his hair a tangled mess and Lance laughs so hard he cries. 

It’s his last mistake. Keith tackles him, their momentum carrying them both out into the waves where the sea swallows Lance’s mirth. 

Keith pins him in the shallows, the waves breaking over his head before clearing away. 

“Gotcha,” Keith grins. 

“You cheated.” 

“How!?” His hands are pressing into Lance’s arms, keeping him there. They both know Lance could shove him off if he wanted to.

Lance’s argument is cut short as the next wave nearly drowns him. 

Keith yanks him back up and Lance coughs and sputters, wiping sand and water from his face. Keith snickers, helping him before leading them both out of the waves. 

He grins, looking around at the beach Lance has manifested from thin air. 

“Where are we?” 

Lance wrings out his shirt before stripping it off entirely, abandoning it in the sand. Keith is surprised by the strength in every line of Lance’s body. He’s built narrow but the muscle and tendon flexing beneath his skin would rival that of any Blade. 

He knows Lance is strong. Of course he knows. He’s Altean. But still. Somehow it catches Keith off-guard. 

As he turns Keith catches sight of the scar marring the entirety of Lance’s lower back. 

Lance catches him staring, a look or mischief in his eyes. 

“You’re staring.” 

Keith blushes but it doesn’t stop him from looking at the injury. “How did you…” He fades off, not sure how to go about asking. “The scar,” he finally manages. 

There’s a grace and fluidity to Lance that renders him almost delicate. Save for the way he fights. In combat he’s fearless, reckless even. But he fights with an analytical precision. But Keith hasn’t seen anything that would lead him to believe Lance might have a scar like that. That he might have seen some kind of a battle that would leave such a mark. 

Lance’s shoulder’s bow self-consciously the longer Keith stares, like for a moment he’d forgotten about it. And Keith had so thoughtlessly brought it up again. 

“There was a bomb,” he says weakly, fingers twitching against his pants. “In the crystal chamber. It detonated, shattering the crystal and throwing shrapnel everywhere.” The words are awkward and stuttering. 

“I threw Coran from the room but took the brunt of the blast.” 

“How old were you?” Keith asks softly. The scar is old, pale with age. 

Lance shifts uncomfortably, chewing on his lip. “Fourteen.” He keeps his back to the sea, shame in his expression and Keith steps into his space. 

“Then you earned it.” 

Lance peeks are him from under his eyebrows, one hand gripping his opposite arm. 

“Do not be ashamed of something that proves your valor,” Keith says. ”It is not ugly.”

Lance’s expression does something complicated, his eyes flicking back and forth between Keith’s. “It’s not?” 

Keith frowns. He doesn’t like the implication that someone might have told Lance otherwise. 

“Are scars not worn with honor here?”

Lance shakes his head and looks away. 

Keith stares at him in surprise. “Fascinating,” he murmurs. 

“They’re imperfections,” Lance says softly, thumb stroking over the inside of his elbow. “Only the worthiest of warriors bear no scars as evidence that they are capable fighters. No one has drawn their blood.”

Keith actually laughs, throws his head back and laughs. It bares the long line of his throat and Lance is reminded of the scars he’d seen Keith wore. He didn’t carry them with shame. 

His head lolls on his shoulders and he smiles warmly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“That’s ludicrous. Scars are how we learn, how we survive. We make mistakes and we _survive_.” He shakes his head in wonder, voice lilting. “Such an injury only makes you more desirable.” He barely resists the urge to touch Lance’s cheek. 

Lance flushes both in embarrassment and pleasure. “Thank you.” 

Keith touches his arm. “Wear it with pride,” he says softly. “You earned it.” 

Lance nods, a smile pulling at his mouth. “Thank you.” 

Keith nods sharply. “You’re welcome. Now come on, what did you want to show me?”

Lance smiles, his shoulders squaring as he lifts his chin. “Come on.” He takes Keith’s hand again, running the rest of the way to a small cavern. It’s hollow, the stone worn smooth and bubbly. Lance climbs up through the tunnel, reaching back to help Keith. 

Sunlight streams in through the upper passage, haloing Lance’s hair. 

The realization strikes Keith that he’s never seen Lance outside. Which is a shame. With the sun in his hair and on his skin he was made for this. 

Not for the first time Keith is left speechless. Lance was born for the sun. It gilds him in gold, warm against his skin. It’s like he was born from the sea, a complicated weave of the sand and water, blended with the stunning blue of the sky. 

He’s the very planet embodied. 

Keith grips Lance’s hand firmly, letting himself be pulled from the shadows of the tunnel into the sun. 

The upper chamber is wider than the one below and tall enough for them to stand in. A hole in the wall opens out over the sea, letting in the setting sun. Lance is short of breath as he flops into a dip in the stone like it was made for him. It’s shaped like a shallow tub, perfectly cradling him.

The sun on the water glitters like crystal and Keith realizes from this perspective, the colors keep changing. The water is still blue but on the surface it changes, flecks of green and pink and purple, ever shifting, like the gemstones back home. There are layers of color to it and Keith smiles. He comes to stand beside Lance, staring out over the water.

“It’s beautiful.” 

Lance’s head rests against the wall, water dripping from the ends of his hair. 

“My mother used to bring me here.” 

Keith sinks into a nearby nook on the floor, his weight resting against Lance’s ankles. 

“When things got to be too much she would sneak away and come here to think.” His head sways in Keith’s direction. “When I was older she’d bring me with her. Things in the palace would just get so _loud_. All the politics and sniveling and war.” He pinches his eyes and shakes his head. “Sometimes I just- need to pretend it’s not happening, you know? I need a second to just breathe.” 

Keith’s eyebrows furrow in thought. He knows Lance’s mother is gone. But what he doesn’t understand is Lance’s decision to bring him here.

“Why am I here?” he asks softly. “Why a simulation?” Lance bites his lip. “Why not just take me there?” 

Lance chews on the inside of his cheek, beginning to fidget. “It isn’t there anymore. Stray fire. Collapsed the cavern.” He lifts his eyes to Keith’s. “There’s nothing left but rubble.” He swallows thickly, gesturing to the cavern. “And this memory of it.” 

He holds Keith’s gaze. “I would have liked to have taken you,” he says softly. A small smile flickers at his mouth. “I think my mother would have liked you.” 

Keith’s heart flutters at the admission, a sense of pride he didn’t expect swelling his chest. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Lance goes on. “You didn’t have to share all that you did with me about your home. But it means a lot to me. I wasn’t- sure how to repay you,” he says awkwardly. “I just hope you’ve enjoyed learning as much about my home as I have learning about yours.” He gestures lamely. “I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Keith rests his hand on Lance’s leg. “Thank you.” He smiles softly. “For sharing this with me. It means a lot.” He squeezes Lance’s ankle. 

“There is more beauty in Altea than I once gave it credit for.” He holds Lance’s gaze long enough to make him blush before looking out to sea again, withdrawing his hand. 

They watch the sun sinking closer and closer to the sea. 

Lance’s hands twitch and without realizing he’s doing it, he begins to weave them through the air, a thread of quintessence materializing between his fingers. 

Keith slowly withdraws his hand from Lance’s ankle, watching him. 

Lance watches him curiously before looking at his hands. 

“Are you afraid of me?” Lance whispers, the blue thread pulsing between his hands. 

“No,” Keith says softly but his eyes are still on Lance’s hands and the alchemy he’s weaving. 

“But you are afraid of my alchemy.”

Keith slowly lifts his eyes. “Yes.”

The corners of Lance’s mouth pull down in disappointment. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Keith’s eyes narrow briefly. “Yes.”

Lance’s heart kicks. He didn’t expect that. 

“May I show you something?”

“With alchemy?” 

Lance nods. “I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “And the connection will be one way. It can be a little invasive,” he warns and Keith stiffens. 

For a moment Lance thinks Keith will say no. And then he doesn’t. 

“What do you need me to do?”

Lance sits up, placing his feet on the floor and sinks to the ground in front of Keith. His fingers are still aglow with quintessence.

“Will you give me your hands?” 

Keith hesitates. “What do you want to show me?” 

Lance’s smile is sad. “Alchemy that doesn’t hurt.” Keith searches Lance’s eyes before gently placing his hands in Lance’s. 

Lance smiles and closes his eyes. The blue light spreads across his hands and Keith feels it against his skin. It’s clear and bright, shifting around him like the currents. It’s so very _Lance_. It’s his essence washing over and embracing Keith with compassion and love and a complex weave of emotions he can hardly hope to identify. 

It’s overwhelming. 

Lance’s quintessence presses against his skin, engulfing him and Keith gasps like he’s been submerged. 

The feeling instantly vanishes and Lance tries to pull back. 

“No-” Keith’s fingers grip Lance’s on reflex, his eyes slowly opening. “Come back,” he rasps, eyes glassy and dazed. “Please.” 

Lance’s breath trembles, his quintessence washing over Keith again and his eyes flutter closed. His head tips back, lips parting for breath as he floats in sensation. 

“What is that?” he breathes. Lance can feel Keith’s fingers trembling against his own. 

“Me,” Lance says softly. “Our alchemy comes from within. It’s who we are in the purest sense. It’s a powerful weapon.” And Keith can feel the grief Lance feels. “But it’s also so much more. I don’t-” He struggles to explain but Keith interrupts. 

“I understand.” His breathing is shallow and rapid and he’s swaying. 

Hunger claws at Lance, a deep desire to feel Keith’s own quintessence, to see it. The sensations he’s been able to draw from Keith have been all flame, a fierce passion, quick to rise in temper. It had been a struggle to help him reign in the emotional shifts Keith is prone to. But he’d done well. Lance is proud of all the work Keith has done, something Keith can feel in their connection. 

“Can I…?” It comes out raw and hungry. When he doesn’t finish Keith’s eyes open. Lance can seem the light of his own quintessence reflected in Keith’s eyes and that desperation grows. 

“I want to feel you.” 

Before Lance can open the connection between them, Keith’s mental shields shatter. They open wide of their own volition and Lance is nearly knocked off-balance by the force of it. 

Keith’s quintessence hits him hard, hot enough it burns and his fingers grip Keith’s tightly as he rides out the wave. 

The intensity fades after a moment, leveling out and Lance wants to cry. It’s been so long since he shared his quintessence with anyone. He didn’t realize how deeply lonely he was until this moment, until Keith’s quintessence is weaving through his own. It rushes in to fill that void and Lance blinks rapidly, drawing a ragged gasp. 

The light in the darkened cavern has turned violet, their hands glowing where their quintessence meets. 

“I didn’t know,” Keith whispers and Lance sniffles, wiping at his cheek with a shoulder. 

Keith links their fingers as much as he can from their position. 

A moment later the simulation around them fades until they’re sitting in a small white room again. 

Lance carefully untangles the threads of their energy, Keith’s wound so tightly around his own it takes him a moment to slip free. 

“We should go,” he rasps, wiping at his face once he manages to free his fingers. 

His cheeks are warm and he can’t look Keith in the eye. 

“Thank you.” Keith’s voice is soft. 

Lance’s eyes flick up to meet his before looking away again. He nods. 

“You’re welcome.” He clears his throat and gathers himself. “Thank you for trusting me.” 

There’s a weight to Keith’s gaze. “You earned it.” 

Lance doesn’t feel like it, but he takes Keith’s word for it. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . I don't have the spoons to edit this so here you go.

In the end there’s a dramatic reveal. Lance drags a sheet off a full length mirror once they’re both ready, his eyes sparkling. 

Keith blinks at his own reflection, his fingers bumping against the mirror before he realizes it actually _is_ him staring back. He looks nothing like himself. 

He reaches up and touches the jeweled necklace around his throat. The stones throw off a variety of colors that shift and change in the light. The strands are thin and delicate, fitting perfectly around his throat, as fitted as the rest of the garment. There are small embroidered details across the front of the suit, gemstones he can barely see tucked into various parts of the design at his shoulders. The light casts small colors across the surface of the mirror. 

“What do you think?” Lance is practically vibrating with excitement. 

Keith struggles to find words. He doesn’t know what to think. He looks nothing like himself. 

“That’s me?” His voice is quiet, breathless as he stares at his reflection. He’s in a white beaded suit Lance had designed, with his hair piled high, exposing the long line of his throat. There’s a thick collar of a necklace around his throat, a curling delicate silver circlet on his head. 

Lance grins. “Yup. That’s you.” His heart is skipping in his chest. Keith is even more beautiful than Lance had imagined and he can’t take his eyes off him. 

Keith’s fingers drift over the necklace, the line of the suit, the thick, smooth material, the boning of the corset beneath. It’s so different from anything he’d otherwise wear. 

Keith touches the silver arch of the crown he wears that comes down over the crest of his cheek. A shimmering purple highlighter has been brushed across his skin to mimic the Altean markings he doesn’t have.

“Purple?” he asks.

“Well, I wanted to do red because that’s the color of your quintessence.” His voice fades, remembering the intensity of their connection the other night. 

Lance touches his own cheek where his marks are. “Our marks are tied to our quintessence,” he explains. “That’s why they’re various colors.” He lowers his hand and his expression sombers. “But it would be a shame to hide those eyes,” he murmurs, getting a little lost. And if it’s the exact shade of their quintessence combined...

Keith flushes under Lance’s gaze and it takes him a moment to look away. 

As he shifts the sheer crystal cape affixed to his shoulders nearly blinds him in the mirror. He was made to stand out and anxiety builds in his stomach. 

“It’s very...Altean,” he decides, swallowing back his own nervousness. And it is. But like everything else about Altea, it’s cold. He misses the warm dark colors of his own wardrobe but doesn’t say as much. 

“Is that good or bad?” Lance asks and there’s a hint of anxiety in his features. 

Keith swallows back his own trepidation and turns to face him, his expression teasing. 

“Opulent, over dressed, dramatic-”

“Okay, okay,” Lance interrupts with a laugh. 

“Beautiful,” Keith finishes, his eyes on Lance. There’s a momentary pause where the words hang in the air between them, touching on the tension that’s slowly been building between them.

Lance flushes. “Alright smooth talker, let’s put those newfound skills to use.” He tucks Keith’s arm into the crook of his elbow and leads him to the ballroom. 

~

Keith’s breath comes shallow and rapid as he waits behind the curtain. The material is thick but does little to dampen the sounds of celebration on the other side. Keith’s palms are sweating. 

“I can’t do this,” he whispers. His hands are trembling.

Lance takes them to stop him from worrying them together. Anxious violet eyes meet his own, searching Lance’s like he needs solid ground to stand on. 

“Yes you can,” Lance reassures. He reaches up with his free hand, gently tucking back the stubborn strands of Keith’s long hair. His eyes finally settle on Keith’s once he’s done what he can to tame it. 

“You already know everything you need to.”

“I’m gonna be sick.” 

Lance snickers but there’s no mockery in it. His eyes sparkle when he looks up and the expression is fond. He presses a warm hand to Keith’s cheek. 

“You’re gonna be perfect Keith. They’ll love you.” 

Keith holds onto Lance’s hand tightly. “Why can’t you walk down with me?” They’ve been over this a hundred times. Keith thought it would be easier. 

“Because I can’t.” He can see Keith’s pulse throbbing in his throat. “I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs okay? Just focus on the back wall.” He bumps the underside of Keith’s chin, pulling his gaze back when he tries to look away. The heels have made him taller than Lance and it’s strange not to be able to meet his gaze head on.

“One step at a time,” Lance reassures. “Go as slowly as you need.” A smile pulls at his mouth. “We practiced this blind. You’re gonna be fine.” 

Keith bites his lip but nods. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. 

“I will be right there,” Lance whispers and Keith opens his eyes. 

“I know.” 

Lance raises Keith’s gloved hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Save me a dance?” he asks. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Always,” he promises, squeezing his hand.

Lance winks. “You look beautiful by the way.”

Keith’s cheeks color and for a moment Lance is lost, staring at him. Beautiful is an understatement but Lance doesn’t have another word for what Keith is. Other than the most breathtaking thing Lance has ever seen. 

Longing makes his heart ache and it takes a monumental effort to let go of Keith’s hand.

“Thank you.” Keith takes another deep breath, his shoulders straightening. 

Lance backs towards the curtain. “See you soon,” he promises before he’s turning and slipping away. 

Keith stands awkwardly, trying to force himself to relax. “I can do this,” he whispers and in his mind it’s Lance’s voice. “I can do this.” He shakes out his hands, taking slow, deep breaths. 

He counts the beats of his heart, listening for the herald to announce him. 

When it finally comes Keith is steady, the weight of Lance’s lips against his hand holding him firm. That same hand lifts gracefully to push back the curtain and he steps into the light. 

~

The room falls silent. Keith hadn’t been expecting that and it throws him off. He freezes at the top of the stairs, still as a statue. Whispers echo around the room, everyone staring at him and Keith feels his throat close up. The entire room has turned their attention to him and Keith’s brain fills with white noise. 

Tension begins to wind him tight and Lance’s voice in his head is the only thing to cut through his terror. 

_You can do this,_ it whispers. _Just focus on the back wall._ Keith’s eyes find the back wall and he takes the stairs one at a time, the same way he’s done a thousand times.

The music starts up with him, like it had been waiting for that exact moment and Keith tries to fight back a smile. His ears are ringing so loudly he doesn’t hear the herald finishing his announcement. He’s ready to panic again as he reaches the floor of the ballroom, his momentary goal finally reached. And then, just as he promised, Lance is there. 

Keith’s expression is cool and neutral as he finds Lance’s blue eyes. He leans in and lightly drops a kiss to Keith’s cheek.

“Well done,” he whispers. And then he’s guiding Keith’s hand into the crook of his arm and it begins.

He shimmers like a centerpiece wherever he goes, drawing attention as he’s passed from arm to arm, stared at and pawed over like some shiny bauble and Keith hates it. The only solace he has are the gloves that keep him from having to touch anyone. It’s a small comfort, one Lance had been kind enough to provide him. 

The high collar of the necklace he wears is choking him, the suit stiff and tight across his shoulders. 

The corset cinched tight about his waist limits his movements and the heel on his ankle boots make it impossible to move. Still, with Lance’s training and guidance Keith has learned to move with grace in spite of it. 

The sheer fabric from his shoulders glitters like faerie crystal, draping to drag across the floor beneath a cropped white satin cloak. He can hear it scratching faintly against the white stone. Part of him wonders if the fabric actually is made of spun crystal. 

Between the heavy material, the corset, and the necklace, Keith feels like he’s in chains again. 

His dark hair is piled on top of his head, the weight making his neck ache. The necklace forces his chin high, it and the corset keeping his posture perfect. 

The silver woven crown presses uncomfortably against his pointed ears, rubbing them raw. The shape curls down over the high points of his cheeks, the light reflecting off the metal leaving him partially blind. It's braided into his hair, effectively locking it in place. 

And in spite of it all Keith is perfect. As he’s meant to be. He’s elegant and graceful and dignified. He shows none of his discomfort and anxiety just as he’s meant to. 

It goes on for hours. Lance is unable to stay by his side, being the center of attention himself and soon they’re separated. Keith holds his own the way Lance had taught him. He socializes and dances with anyone who asks, executing a flawless bow as the King is announced. 

The crowds part, the sounds of heels striking against stone echoing in the sudden silence. Keith holds his breath as they stop in front of him. For a split second he thinks he’s about to be thrown out. And then a gentle hand beneath his chin has him rising and his eyes find those of the king’s. They’re curious, assessing, but filled with none of the hatred Keith had been expecting. 

The man says nothing but withdraws his hand, finishing his trek to the throne. Keith’s eyes find Lance’s, asking what the hell just happened. Lance just grins. 

Keith is pulled into the next dance by Taelyn and he bristles but lets it happen. He’s very much trapped by the social niceties and for the first time Keith understands Altean politics. 

There’s nothing he wants more than to rip Taelyn’s throat out as his hand falls to Keith’s ass beneath the cloak he wears, gripping him so hard it hurts. 

“Aren’t you just the perfectly behaved little slut,” Taelyn whispers. “All dressed up as the prince’s whore?” He pulls Keith in against his chest and Keith’s stomach churns at the press of Taelyn’s half hard cock against his thigh. 

Something on his face must give away his disgust because Taelyn grins. “What, you’ll let him bend you over any available surface but not me?”

Keith says nothing, just continues to move through the dance with as much grace and dignity as he can muster. 

“You look almost civilized like this,” Taelyn digs when he fails to get a rise out of Keith. 

“Thank you.” 

"Guess that means I lost the bet." Keith's fingers twitch in Taelyn's grip. 

His grin turns biting as he leans in to whisper in Keith’s ear. “But I know what you really are,” he whispers. “And no amount of makeup will ever hide your dirty, heathen blood.” 

He steps back, lifting Keith’s hand and pressing a kiss there, the same as Lance had done behind the curtain. Keith’s skin crawls at the contact. 

“Thank you for the dance,” Taelyn says graciously, bowing over Keith’s hand before turning and walking away. 

As fate would have it Lance takes that moment to laugh from somewhere across the room. Keith’s eyes find him but the familiar silhouette does little to comfort Keith now. He feels dirty and humiliated. 

Somewhere along the way he’d forgotten this was a bet. That before this he’d been a prisoner in a cell. And now he’s given up everything he is for what? He gains nothing from this. He’s failed to accomplish his mission, failed to escape, failed to change _anything._

His eyes burn and he takes a shuddering breath, holding his head high. He could have escaped by now but he’d stuck around. Maybe he’d had something to prove. But now it all seems so pointless. The ball seems pointless. 

There’s a war going on, people are dying and instead of defending his home he’s standing here, wrapped entirely in the height of Altean fashion and beauty, his heart in the hands of the Altean prince. 

What has he done?

Lance laughs again and Keith turns to place the sound, having lost sight of him. The jewelry hanging from his ears sways with the movement. 

Lance seems to be having a good time, speaking pleasantly with someone Keith doesn’t recognize. He wishes that attention were on him instead, the way it was moments before the party began.

He doesn’t feel beautiful the way Lance had said he was, the way Lance had made him feel. He feels dirty and ugly and wants to cry. 

Instead he stands where he is, a perfect statue for the others to ogle, features smooth and pleasant but detached. He feels carved of soul stone, milky white and trapped. He has been carved into an image of Lance’s making. Keith doesn’t know whether to love or hate him for it. 

A servant steps past Keith, something about them drawing his attention as they weave through the crowd towards Lance. 

They look Altean but the way they move is familiar, out of place, their eyes intent on their target. Keith’s heart begins to race, the hair on his arms standing on end. He knows that movement, was trained to move the same way and knows it’s an assassination. He follows carefully, dread looming in his stomach as he draws almost parallel to the figure. 

They’re coming at Lance from the side. He’s still talking animatedly to whatever politician or diplomat has caught his attention and is paying the servant no mind. 

Keith sees the blade a second before the figure strikes. 

It’s a miracle he manages to move Lance out of the way. 

Dressed as he is Keith can’t lunge, can’t unstick the words from his throat to shout a warning. So he loops an arm around Lance’s waist, spinning him in a well practiced movement he falls into with familiarity, letting Keith switch their positions. 

Lance is startled but moves easily, like water beneath Keith’s hands, the same as he always does, laughter sweeter than honey falling from his lips. It’s the moment Keirh realizes he’s in love with him. And then he feels the impact. 

The hooked blade catches him straight through the kidney, driving the breath from him. It hits perfectly between the bonding of his corset, sinking almost to the hilt. The startled amusement fades from Lance’s eyes as Keith sways, his grip on Lance’s arms turning painful. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Keith notes Lance’s suit is made in the same material as his. He hadn’t noticed before. 

And then the figure is tearing the blade free, wrenching a grunt of pain from Keith. He turns, nearly stumbling over the crystal cloak, shoving Lance back as a second figure Keith didn’t even see, makes a wild slash through the air. 

The strike catches him across the face instead of Lance. There are screams as people begin to realize what’s happening. Keith tries to keep himself between the assassins and Lance but his legs aren’t responding. He trips over the strange material tangling around his feet and falls. One of the figures lands a blow to his back that finally drives the air back into his lungs and with it a scream. 

The second assassin takes another swipe at Lance but the guards are already there, shoving him to the floor along with the other.

Keith opens his eyes, blinking through the blood and tears. He’s lying parallel to one of the assassins and realizes he knows them. Braylen. 

They’d trained together briefly before being split into their own units. They’d been friends. Now Braylen snarls at him, pinned beneath the hands of the guards, spitting at Keith in Galran, recognizing him.

 _“Traitor! You fucking traitor!”_ He strains in the guard’s grip, struggling to break free. “ _How dare you turn your back on us. Dirty half-breed Altean-fucking traitor!”_ He spits at him. “ _Whore!”_

The guards haul him to his feet along with the other, dragging them from the room and Keith curls into himself, trying to escape the pain. All he can hear is the sound of Braylen’s voice echoing in his ears, over and over again, making him sick.

“Keith. Keith let me look.” Lance is kneeling beside him and Keith has to turn his head, blood filling his mouth to spill onto the floor to keep from choking. 

“Move your hand!” Keith presses his face to the floor and cries, letting Lance pull his hand away. Lance pales at the wound. Keith’s cheek is gaping open, his teeth flashing white though the blood. Lance rips off his coat, wadding up the fabric and pressing it to the wound, Keith crying out.

“Help! Someone help me!” He turns back to Keith, eyes bright with panic. “Hang in there. You’re gonna be okay.” He slips into Galran, low and quiet, only for Keith’s ears. _“I’m sorry._ ”

Keith hides his face in the bloody marble and cries.


	13. Chapter 13

Keith's recovery is rapid thanks to the wonders of Altean technology but it still takes him a day to recover during which rumors abound. He's lauded for protecting the prince and given everything he could ever want, Lance’s own father declaring him a lost Altean prince. He should probably feel proud of their successful deception but he doesn’t. 

Keith barely sees Lance. After the assassination attempt Lance is placed under much heavier guard, his schedule allowing for little free time as the coronation approaches and Keith is rarely left alone himsef. 

Lance’s father invites him to stay, preparing a guest room for him. Keith thanks him gratefully but says he can’t stay long. Duty calls him back to his home. And Taelyn lingers like an ever present shadow Keith can’t shake. 

The rejection stings. But Taelyn was right. It was just a bet. He’s ready to go home.

He does not elaborate on where exactly home is. 

Lance, true to his word, soon has a ship prepared and waiting for Keith to take him home. Keith finds out when a note is delivered to his door on a golden plate. He crumples it in his fist and throws it away. He takes the simplest set of robes he can find, packing nothing. There’s nothing here for him.

He's escorted by a number of grovelling politicians and people still stupid enough to believe the rumors about him, trying to engratiate themselves to him. 

Keith is polite, much as it pains him to be. Lance has taught him well. 

Keith lingers as long as his heart will let him but Lance never comes to see him off. He swallows the hurt and the tears and climbs into the shuttle.

Inside he finds a crate waiting for him. It’s filled with the spotless Altean suit from the Gala along with the crown and earrings he’d been given.

Keith leaves it on the floor of the docking bay, flying back to Daibazal with a broken heart. 

~

In less than a week, Keith is back. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance bears about Keith’s return and they finally get on the same page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all ready for this? 
> 
> Apologies is a section of this is awkward. I had a while new paragraph or two pop up. So it’s not as edited as it could be.

Lance all but runs for his room when he hears the news. The lost Altean prince is back. Lance had been miserable since Keith’s departure. His father had him forcibly moved to another part of the castle and on lockdown. If he wasn’t preparing for his coronation he was locked in his room. He’d been unable to see Keith off without outting him and he’d hated himself for it ever since. He didn’t get to say goodbye, had no means of contacting him, and never thought he would see Keith again. He never got to tell him how he feels.

He sprints all the way to the room his father had set up for Keith when he’d heard the news, but it’s empty. Lance’s heart sinks and he forcefully questions the guards about it but they’d said this is where they’d left him. 

Lance drags a hand back through his hair, rumpling it. He checks his own room next, the guards growing tired of keeping up but there’s no sign of Keith there either. 

Frustrated, he checks their old room. It’s been stripped bare, but as the door hisses open he sees Keith sitting slumped over on the edge of the bed.

Lance is breathless but it’s not from the run. Keith is in a plain, fitted pair of pants, dark boots, and a deep blue shirt. He’s as beautiful as Lance remembered.

“You came back.” It comes out a shallow rasp and he swallows, trying to clear his throat. 

Keith doesn’t lift his head and Lance is too paralyzed to move. 

“Why did you let me go?” It comes out soft, small. An accusation Lance doesn’t understand. His forehead wrinkles in confusion. 

“Because I promised you I would,” Lance says gently. His frown deepens as Keith continues to stare at the floor. “I thought it was what you wanted.” Seeing Keith now, he isn’t so sure.

“You sent me back.” It comes out choked and Lance’s heart kicks in his chest.

“I thought it was what you wanted,” Lance whispers. 

Keith finally lifts his head and his eyes reveal the deep heartache he’s feeling. “You sent me _away_.” The words are cracked and vulnerable and Lance’s stomach flips before his heart surges in his chest, rocking him on his heels.

“You weren’t even there,” Keith says weakly, tears slipping down his cheeks.

Lance has never seen him cry. “Do you not want me anymore? Was all of this-?” He gestures weakly and self-loathing takes up residence in Lance’s chest. 

Keith’s arm thumps back to his knees. 

“What have you done to me?” He puts his head in his hands. His voice is little more than a whisper and a tear drips from his chin to the floor. He feels broken, all his pieces jagged and no longer fitting together right. 

“You came back.” Lance takes off his coat to have something to do with his shaking hands, hanging it up and not noticing when it slips to the floor, his eyes on Keith. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” Keith closes his eyes, shoulders bowing further. He doesn’t have the strength to stand. 

He looks up, arms falling limply across his knees. “Do you know what happened? When I went home?” He chokes on the word. “They didn’t recognize me. None of them. They looked me in the eye and had no idea who I was.” Keith hangs his head, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“And then when they did it was worse.” He can barely get the words out. “The Blades disowned me. I can’t go back,” he cries. “Because of you. 

“They branded me a traitor. I can’t go home. I tried to tell them. But they wouldn’t believe me.” His expression collapses. “I wish you’d never taken me out of that cell.” His voice cracks again and the lines of his body wind tight, as if Keith is trying to forcefully will himself to collapse inward like a star. 

"I've lost my family all over again.” Lance’s heart breaks because now he knows _exactly_ how much that means to Keith. “I don’t-'' The breath shudders out of him as he wraps them around himself, curling forward. “I can’t go home. It’s not home anymore. 

“You changed too much of me!” His hands are shaking and he tucks his elbows close to his sides. “I can’t-'' He squeezes his eyes shut and cries, bowing forward over his knees. 

“I don’t belong anywhere anymore.” His hands slip into his hair, mussing the braid he has it pulled back into out of habit now. “I wish you’d just put me back in that cell.” 

Lance’s feet make no sound as he crosses the room, sinking to the floor at Keith’s feet. 

“I wish I could hate you.” Keith’s voice comes out strangled and weak. “But I can’t. After everything, I can’t. I can’t stop _missing_ you.” He curls into himself, bending forward over his knees and Lance rises up to fill the space so as Keith collapses inward, Lance is there to hold him, whether he wants him to or not. He winds up tucked against Lance’s chest, hands curled over his heart. 

Lance tucks his hair back behind his ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into Keith’s hair. “I’m so sorry. I never should have-” He grinds his teeth and wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Stars forgive me for what I’ve done.” Keith isn’t sure if the words are meant for Lance or himself. 

“I’m sorry. Keith, I’m so sorry.” He holds him close as he can, hoping Keith won’t push him away. 

“If you need a place to stay you will always be welcome here.” 

Keith pulls back. “As what? The alien trophy? The savage who could be civilized?” His throat hurts with the words and the tears and he wipes at his cheeks. “A servant? A lord?” he asks. “Because that’s what you made me and now I’m not fit for anything else.” 

Lance wipes Keith’s tears away as more spill down his face. “As whatever you want,” he promises. “As _who_ ever you want. As a guard or a soldier, a friend, a lover, I don’t care.” He holds Keith’s face in his hands. “Just _stay._ Please.” His voice trembles. “You never have to see me again if that’s what you want.” It kills him to say it but Lance means it. 

“You can choose to be who or whatever you want Keith, I owe you that much, but I want you here. With me.” His forehead creases. “I’m not going to force you to stay but if you _want_ a place there is one here for you at my side.” 

Keith doesn’t know what to make of that. He searches Lance’s eyes. “And the truth? Of who and what I am and the bet? That I’m a Galran soldier who fell in love with a prince?" His eyes flick back and forth between Lance's. "What happens when that gets out and ruins your reputation,” he asks and the words are bitter. “What then? Your father will never-” Lance cups the side of his face. 

“My father doesn’t get a say in what my heart wants,” Lance interrupts, his fingers stroking over Keith’s jaw. “Then at least I still have _you_. Because that’s all I need. And they will know that you are worthy.” Keith looks away and Lance lets him, fingers curling as he pulls them back, giving him space. 

“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” Lance says softly. “That I ripped you apart and tried to reform you like you were nothing more than a doll or a plaything.” His voice shakes. “And I can only hope that one day you’ll forgive me.” He sits back on his knees. “Until then, anything you want of me, all you have to do is ask.” His heart aches with the truth of it.

“I will make you a prince if that is what you want of me.” He searches Keith’s eyes when he looks at him. 

“I will do anything if it will make you happy,” Lance rasps. And he means it. 

In that moment Lance would have cut his own arm off if it would have made Keith happy. 

“My kingdom, my life, my heart. Anything,” he whispers. He’d missed Keith’s smile, his laughter, his righteous fury. He’d missed _him._

“Dance with me.” 

Lance is startled by the request and for a moment it doesn’t process. “That’s it?”

“You promised me,” Keith whispers, his eyes searching Lance’s. The grief in Lance’s heart slowly eases.

“Technically speaking I think you promised to save one for me.” It comes out weak. Lance knows he should not be arguing the semantics of the moment but his brain is running on auto-pilot.

“Then I’m calling it in.” Keith chokes on the words and Lance wants to brush away his tears. “Dance with me,” he asks again. “Please.”

Lance stands, extending his hand to Keith, drawing him slowly to his feet. He tucks Keith against his chest, cradling him gently, as if to protect him, holding him close. 

He guides them through a dance from that night at the ball and Keith executes the steps flawlessly, the way Lance taught him. 

Lance can’t help but marvel at that, at Keith’s grace and nobility even now. That’s not something Lance thinks he taught him, but something he always had. 

He pulls Keith in close, holding his hand to his chest. 

“You were always worthy,” he whispers, the words pressed to Keith’s dark hair. “I’m sorry I was too much of an ass to realize it. To understand.” He slows the steps, swaying gently, just holding Keith. “All I taught you was what to say and how to hold yourself. 

"Your grace and strength and nobility you already had. I’m sorry my people so willfully misunderstand your own. I’m sorry we’re caught in a war and that my friend is such an ass.” He pulls back enough to look at Keith, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“I don’t deserve you or your heart,” Lance says. “But mine is yours if you want it.

“I love your passion and your fire and how intensely you feel.” He smooths Keith’s hair back from his face, his fingers stroking over the scar. “I don’t want to see you lose that. I don’t want to be the awful thing that takes that from you.” 

Keith’s head rests against Lance’s chest, every part of him begging him to stay, but he’s scared. 

“Please don’t hurt me again.” He sounds so small, a surprised noise catching in his chest as Lance crushes him in a hug. 

He opens himself, pressing quintessence into his hands. A moment later Lance gasps. All of Keith’s grief, his hurt, his longing slam into Lance. He falls into the gaping hole of Keith’s heart head first and his knees buckle. 

“You left,” Keith says wetly. “After everything. I didn’t even see you.” He lifts his head and Lance is too numb to pull him back. “Did you even care?” 

The tears building in Lance’s eyes, spilling over. Instead of speaking he opens the emotional dam of his own quintessence. Images flash in Keith’s mind. He sees himself unconscious in Lance’s arms, how ashen he is in the bed they’ve laid him in. He feels Lance’s fear, the love and tenderness as Lance washes the blood from his face. He sees the hours it takes Lance to carefully free the crown from Keith’s hair instead of cutting it free. He sees Lance falling asleep beside the bed, Keith’s hand in his own. His hair has been freshly washed and braided, draped over his shoulder. 

He feels Lance’s distress when he’d finally been forced from the room, how he’d fought to see Keith to no avail. The devastation he’d felt when he realized Keith had left. 

“I thought I was never gonna see you again,” Lance chokes. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Keith feels Lance’s hurt when he’d realized the one thing he’d had to give him had been left in the docking bay. 

“Why would I want the things I’d been assaulted in?”

Lance’s head snaps up and Keith can feel the confusion through their connection. 

“What?”

Keith’s mind projects the assault to Lance before he can help it, the way his stomach had clenched, the pain of Taelyn’s nails digging into him, the way he’d restrained himself. 

Lance sways on his feet and Keith is blindsided by the sickening rage he feels wash over him. 

“I-” Lance feels like he’s going to vomit. “I didn’t-“ He blinks at Keith. “When?”

Keith flushes in shame and looks away. “When we were dancing.” 

Lance grips his chin, turning Keith back to face him. “That was not your fault.” Rage vibrates through him and Keith can feel it in his bones. He feels Lance’s intent to kill course through him, feels that deep need to protect. 

He grips Lance’s sleeve to keep him from stalking out of the room.

“Please don’t leave,” he whispers, too tired and distressed to be alone. 

Lance’s rage drops to a cold simmer, settling in the back of his throat and he cradled Keith agaisnt him with gentle hands. 

“I won’t,” he promises. “I swear I won’t.” He strokes his hand down Keith’s spine. “But I’m still gonna kill him,” he growls.

Tentatively Keith reaches his arms up and clings to Lance’s shirt, hugging him back just as fiercely. A sob rattles through him and he buries it in Lance’s chest. 

Lance swallows back his anger, pressing honesty and compassion into his words, into Keith. 

“I’ll be better,” Lance whispers. “I promise.”

~

Lance spends the rest of the day in his room with Keith, leading him to the bed where they just lay down and cuddle, Keith nursing the wound in his heart. Eventually Lance asks if he can brush Keith’s hair. 

“Why?”

“Because it makes you happy.” 

Keith is startled Lance knows that. He’d never mentioned it but the times Lance has spent brushing his hair and braiding it are the closest to content and relaxed he’s ever been. 

“And I want to make you happy.” 

Keith nods and Lance spends the next hour just brushing out Keith’s hair, twisting it between his fingers, braiding and re-braiding it until Keith is all but asleep. Lance twines his hair back into a simple Galran plait the same as he’d done while Keith was unconscious, none of the flashy, complicated Altean ones, tying it off for bed. 

He pulls Keith down into his arms, kissing his forehead.

“Goodnight Keith.”

They’re barely comfortable when an alarm sounds through the entire palace, a wailing horn followed by the heavy poud of a drum, startling them both. 

“What is that?”

Lance’s eyes are wide with fear. “We’re under attack.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Keith is exhausted, emotionally drained by what’s happened but when Lance launches himself out of bed Keith is right on his heels. 

Lance slaps his hand to a wall panel and it opens, revealing a small pistol and a sword. He tosses the blade to Keith before prepping the gun and leaning out the door. The lights are flashing but the hall is empty. 

“Oh I don’t like that,” Lance murmurs. 

“What?” Keith is pressed to the opposite wall, sword in hand. 

“My guards are gone,” Lance murmurs. “I lost them earlier but I expected them to have caught up by now.” He shakes his head slowly. “But the halls are empty.” 

A light is flashing in the dimly lit hall, casting blue light down the darkened corridors. Night has fallen and someone has cut the power in this part of the castle.

Keith swears. 

“I have to find my father.” 

“What’s the fastest way to the throne room?” Keith had been less than successful in his attempts to memorize the layout of the castle. He hadn’t had the time when he’d been there. 

Lance steps out into the hall. “This way.” 

They creep to the end of the hall, the beginnings of battle sounding from under the alarms as they draw closer. 

They round the corner in time to see what looks like a shadow with bladed claws kick out, throwing an Altean guard into the wall. He hits the stone with a sickening crack before he falls to the ground unmoving. 

Long spines from the creature's back rattle as it turns towards them, identifying its primary target. It’s hard to tell where the suit ends and the body begins but Keith would know that purple light anywhere. 

Keith grabs Lance’s arm, pulling him back down the hall, a slash of cold fear cutting through him. 

“Run.”

“What?”

“Run!” 

He shoves Lance down the hall ahead of him, the shadow lizard clicking and hissing behind them. 

Lance fires behind them, most of the shots going wide as they run. 

Keith shoves him into the first door they can find, the tearing of claws rending metal growing louder behind them. 

Keith slams the door shut, slashing through the electrical panel. 

“Think it’ll hold?” Lance pants. 

“It had better.” Keith puts himself between Lance and the door, backing him further away. 

“What is that thing?”

Keith’s hands flex around the sword. “A Blade.” 

Lance’s eyes widen as the creature slams into the door, trying to tear through it. The sound makes him flinch.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah. We gotta go.” He turns to face Lance. “Can we get to the throne room from here?” 

Lance does the mental math and nods. “Yeah, there’s a passage up ahead.”

“Good. We need to hurry.” 

Lance leads Keith down the halls and through the passages, leaping over the bodies of the dead as they go. Lance is terrified to look at either side, afraid he’ll recognize someone, afraid Keith will. 

They’re almost in the clear when they reach the throne room but a figure marches towards them, a deep scowl on their face. Blood stains his suit and the sword in his hands, dripping to the carpet below.

Lance sees the same black and purple from before and fires. 

“No!” Keith knocks his arm off target and the shot goes wide, boring a hole into the stone and leaving a dark streak behind. 

“What?”

Keith is frozen in place, staring at the man at the end of the hall, still advancing on them. 

“It’s my brother,” he chokes. 

Adrenaline hits Lance so hard he sways, black spots filling his vision.

“Fuck.” 

Keith sinks into a half crouch, backing Lance further down the hall. “I have to get you out of here.”

“I thought they were after my father,” Lance argues.

Keith shakes his head, long braid sliding over his shoulder. 

“No. They’re here for you.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has a Hail Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t sleep so have the rest of that last chapter.

They bolt down the hall, Keith fending off attacks from Shiro as they go. He doesn’t want to hurt him but he can’t let Shiro get to Lance. 

“Get out of the way!” Shiro snarls as their blades clash. 

“He’s not the target!” He tries to land a blow to Shiro’s side, forcing him to give up some space. 

“You were supposed to kill him,” Shiro hisses. “Not protect him!”

“We were wrong.” 

Shiro makes a swing with his sword and Keith barely manages to avoid it. 

“There were to be no survivors!”

“Braylok is lying to us!” Keith doesn’t have time to explain all he’s learned here but he hopes it’s enough to seed doubt in Shiro’s mind. He’s never liked Braylok, the man prone to fits of rage and hatred. More so than Keith felt was necessary in regard to the Alteans. They were supposed to be fighting for their survival, not the outright destruction of Altea. Peace was _supposed_ to be the endgame. 

“Keith!” Lance hesitates at the end of the hall instead of running for the pods. 

“Go!” Keith snaps, his blade connecting with Shiro’s. The raw strength of it forces Keith to give way to keep his balance. 

“He is trying to destroy Daibazal,” Shiro hisses. “I am protecting my family.” 

“Braylok is a traitor and a liar!” Keith shoves him back, kicking out at him. “Altea’s prince wants peace, the same as us.” 

There’s a brief flicker of doubt in Shiro’s eyes. It isn’t much but it’s enough. Keith’s fist snaps forward, the support keeping Shiro’s sword at bay giving out as he switches to one hand. The edge of the sword cuts into his shoulder but Keith’s aim is true. His fist connects with Shiro’s jaw, spinning him around and Keith bolts for Lance. 

They run in tandem for the pods as the lights cut out. 

Lance slams into the door a moment too late. He jabs at the panel but it’s dead. 

“No!” 

His breath trembles as he presses shaking hands to the steel door.

Keith swears. “How do I get you out of here?” Tension lines his shoulders as he crouches, waiting for Shiro to round the corner. His skin is flushed beneath his clothes and he bemoans his lack of armor. 

“You don’t.” 

“What?” 

Lance pushes away from the wall. “We had to get through that door to reach the bay,” he says weakly. “We’re at a dead end.” 

Keith realizes Lance is right as he looks around. There’s nowhere to go. Lance touches his arm, stepping to the side so he can face him. His heart is heavy. 

“When he comes for me,” he says softly, “your brother, I want you to go.” 

Keith turns on Lance with fire in his eyes. “What?” 

Lance takes a shaky breath. His heart is racing, skin flushed with fear. 

“When he attacks me I want you to run.” It comes out weak but determined. 

“I am _not_ doing that,” Keith growls. “I did it once, it is not happening again.”

Lance wants to cry as his heart lurches. 

Lance gives him a shove. “Go!” 

“I am not leaving you!” Keith argues. 

“One of us has to make it out of here alive. He doesn’t want you. He’s here for me.” He searches Keith’s eyes. “They all are. As long as you’re with me you’re a target. You have to go.”

“ _No_.”

Lance grows exasperated. “Keith, that’s your family out there.”

“So are you!” He turns on Lance. “I am _not_ leaving you,” he whispers. 

“What are you gonna do? Fight your own brother?” Lance snaps. They’re running out of time. “You said it yourself, they’re all family. The Galra and the Blades. Are you going to kill them for me?”

Keith hesitates, pain in his eyes as the tip of his sword lowers. “Give me another option.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out desperate. He wants both. Wants Lance and his people but he’s being forced to choose. And he’s choosing Lance. 

Lance looks around the hall like somehow it will give him an idea. Keith sees it the moment they do.

He turns to Keith, a feverish look in his eyes. “Marry me.”

Keith stares at him in surprise. “What?”

“Or mate me, whatever.” Keith looks dumbfounded. He can’t begin to process what Lance is saying. It doesn’t make sense. His ears are ringing. 

“I want peace!” Lance pleads, gesturing with his hands. “That’s why they’re trying to kill me, because they think I don’t! Someone is benefiting from this war but there is nothing I want more than to make Altea Galra. Do you understand?” He closes the distance between them, holding Keith’s arms. “To make our people one.” He looks desperate. “I have been saying that this whole time.” He swallows thickly, looking almost apologetic. 

“You’re the one who kept asking me for ideas,” he says weakly. “This is it.” He shrugs helplessly. “Marry me. Help me. Please.” His grip on Keith is borderline painful. “I want peace,” he insists. “Help me prove it.”

Keith shakes his head slowly. “It’ll never work.”

“The Galra respect family,” Lance argues. They’re running out of time. “Those you choose, the bonds you make, not blood.” He searches Keith’s eyes, grip tightening. “Choose me.” 

Keith stares at him, heart in his throat. His fingers are numb.

“Do you understand what you’re asking of me?” he whispers. 

Lance steps into his space, gaze firm and steady. His hands are warm enough to burn through the layers of fabric Keith is wearing as he presses them to Keith’s waist. He lowers his voice. 

“Yes,” Lance whispers. He’s close enough Keith can feel his breath against his mouth. “I want peace, Keith.” He dips his chin when Keith looks away, dark hair brushing against Lance’s forehead. “But I want you too.” A tenuous smile pulls at his mouth and he reaches up to tuck Keith’s hair back so he can see him. 

“I know what I’m asking.”

Keith’s breath catches in his chest as their eyes meet. His heart trips over in his chest, trying to escape, adrenaline pounding through him. Lance is right. It’s insane, but it just might work. 

“I’m a traitor,” Keith manages, offering up one last argument. “They may not respect the claim.” 

“I have to try.” 

Keith licks his dry lips. “It will hurt,” he says softly, fingers pressing gently into Lance’s waist.

“I don’t care.”

The last thing Keith wants is to do this to Lance, to hurt him. But with the Blades barreling through the castle towards them the declaration will have witnesses. It will be public. It’ll work.

The sword in his hand sags, blade touching the floor and Lance knows he’s won. 

“Alright.”

Lance’s grin is blinding. “What do I have to do?” he asks.

Keith winces, dropping the blade. It clatters against the stone floor and Keith reaches up to cup Lance’s cheek instead. He kisses him, firm but brief. Lance presses back, holding him tight, frustrated when Keith doesn’t linger. If he’s going to do this the least he owes Lance is a kiss. 

Keith can’t kiss him the way he wants to and forces himself to break away, stepping behind him. One hand pulls at the collar hiding the back of Lance’s neck and Lance tips his chin down, baring more skin and Keith feels his mouth water. This close he can smell him, still taste him on his lips and he finds himself slicking his tongue over them, chasing the taste. 

The fangs in his mouth sharpen, heart tripping over in anticipation as he wraps an arm around Lance’s waist to hold him firm.

“Scream.” 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war finally comes to a head and Lance declares it over.

Keith holds Lance tightly as he bends his head, twisting to sink his teeth into warm skin. 

Lance shrieks as blood fills Keith’s mouth, the scent going straight to his head. The sound echoes down the hall, bouncing against the walls as it carries.

Keith holds him tight to keep Lance from wriggling and making it worse. 

When he pulls back the bite is clean, a perfect circle of his teeth where they’ve broken the skin. It’s bleeding freely. He slicks his tongue over the wound, trying to soothe and Lance whines. He shivers in Keith’s arms and he kisses the bite tenderly as blood soaks Lance’s collar. He can’t resist the urge to nose up into the damp line of Lance’s hair where he’s started to sweat, breathing him in. 

Lance shudders against him. When he speaks his voice is raw. 

“What next?” The gravel of it shoots straight through Keith and he licks at his teeth, shivering with arousal. He doesn’t want to let go. 

“I need you to do the same to me.” His fingers flex against Lance’s stomach, claws catching in the material there before he forces himself to let go. “They need blood,” he rasps. “Have to smell it.” 

Lance’s face is flushed when he turns, nodding. 

“Hurry.”

Lance steps behind him, gently pushing Keith’s braid forward over his shoulder. Lance shifts, fangs filling his mouth as he dips his head, hesitantly kissing along the back of Keith’s neck. 

Keith shivers, Lance’s breath against his skin raising goosebumps. He’s terribly gentle, pressing a warm kiss to Keith’s neck and then another, this one slower. He opens his mouth and Keith shudders at the feel of Lance’s teeth. He whines, the moment before Lance bites down lasting an eternity. 

Lance’s arm loops around his waist, holding him as he mouths at Keith’s neck, fangs finally sinking down. 

Keith shudders, wincing as Lance adds more and more pressure, the flesh finally popping and blood filling his mouth. 

A whine fills the air and Lance’s other hand snakes up to wrap around Keith’s throat just as the Blades turn the corner. 

The hall is thick with blood and arousal, with them. Keith knows he’s visibly hard, breathing shallow as Lance makes eye contact with Shiro over his shoulder. 

When he pulls away his mouth is bloody.

Shiro’s lips pull back with a snarl as he sees them, his first instinct to protect and he charges. Keith has to scramble to get his mind back together enough to shout, “Stop!” as Lance releases him. 

He keeps an arm extended to one side, hiding Lance behind him. The wound to the back of his neck pounds.

Shiro snarls but listens, the other Blades hovering nervously, their eyes darting back and forth between Keith, Shiro, and Lance. 

One of them skitters to the side and Keith growls, sinking into a crouch and forcing Lance further down the hall behind him.

“Get out of the way, Keith,” Shiro warns, lifting his blade threateningly. 

“No.”

Shiro’s expression darkens and his lips pull away from his teeth in warning. Keith mirrors him. 

“He’s the target-”

“He is Galra,” Keith snaps. That brings them all up short. For the first time Shiro seems to notice the blood on his mouth, can smell Lance on him. He stares in horror at Lance behind him, nostrils flaring, sniffing the air before looking back to Keith.

“You didn’t…”

Keith nods slowly. “He wants peace, Shiro. We both do.” 

“There can be no peace,” one of the others snaps and Keith hisses. Shiro snaps his teeth in warning and the Blade backs down.

“He is family,” Keith argues. 

“He’s Altean!” the Blade spits.

Shiro turns on him. “You would deny your own family?” 

The Blade hesitates, looking to the others for support. “The kit is a traitor.” 

Shiro snarls, a warning growl rumbling through the others.

“Keith is one of our own,” he growls. “And he has chosen a mate. The boy has been claimed. It is not our place to dispute it.” He looks to the other Blades, each of them inclining their heads.

The one Blade shakes his head, backing away. “They are no family of mine.” He turns and bolts down the hall away from them. 

One of the other Blades hisses, making to follow but Shiro halts them. 

“Your intel is wrong,” Keith insists. “Whoever is feeding you information is trying to keep the war going, not end it.” 

Shiro’s grey eyes are sharp, calculating. 

“Please,” Keith says softly. “If you have ever trusted me, help us end this.” 

Shiro narrows his eyes but his posture eases. “How. There’s all out war on the steps.” He gestures angrily, furious at having been lied to and manipulated. “My people are  _ dying _ .”

“So are mine,” Lance interrupts. “So are  _ ours _ ,” he amends. “I don’t want to lose any more family today.”

“Then how do we stop it?”

Lance runs a knuckle over his lips. “I have an idea.” 

~ 

Using the Blades as an escort they make their way to the other end of the castle. The halls are filled with the wounds of battle, blood soaking the lush carpets. Shiro and the others fend off the Blades who try to get through, Lance calling off the Alteans. They don’t have the time to stop every conflict they come across. Lance’s heart hurts at the death toll but if he wants to end this he has to choose. 

“Where are we?” Keith stands at Lance’s back, the Blades in a circle around them. 

Lance pulls out his necklace, pressing it into an indent in the door. 

“The jewelry vault. I need something.”

“We are here for  _ jewelry,”  _ one of Shiro’s men hisses. “ _ Fucking Alteans _ ,” he hisses and Keith bares his teeth.

Lance forces his way through the doors before they’re fully open. 

“Trust me!” He runs straight for the case to his left, two diadems nestled on velvet pillows. Keith follows, the others waiting at the door. 

Lance’s breath shallows as he reaches for one, taking it reverently in his hands. 

Keith watches curiously, sensing the weight of the moment as Lance turns. 

“What is it?” 

Lance takes a deep breath, lifting his eyes. “A gift,” he murmurs and he searches Keith’s face. “For my wife.” Keith flinches. 

“Oh.” 

Lance lifts the diadem, placing it on Keith’s head with reverence. 

“Guess my father’s going to have to be disappointed.” The pale metal gleams in Keith’s dark hair, the blue stone set against his forehead an exact match for Lance’s eyes. “But I’m not.” He carefully fixes Keith’s hair, his heart tripping over at the sight of Keith wearing the crown. 

“Now it’s yours.” 

Keith swallows thickly, love swelling in his chest. 

“And it’ll work?” He has to clear his throat to keep his voice from cracking. 

Lance nods. “It will. Everyone will see it. They’ll know as surely as the Galra will by the bites. It  _ will _ work.” It has to. 

The stone is made of crystallized quintessence. Lance’s specifically. His own crown will one day bear a red gem of Keith’s quintessence. 

Lance thumbs over the stone. Or maybe purple. His cheeks warm and his heart gives a pleased thump at the idea. 

Keith scrubs a hand over his face, dragging Lance back to the moment. He feels whiplash threatening to overwhelm him. 

Lance touches his arm. “Are you okay?”

Keith nods. “Yeah.” He drops his hand and tries to smile. “It’s just been a really dramatic week.” 

Lance’s face falls. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You save my life, I break your heart, and then ask you to marry me.” His shoulders sag, his eyes sad. “It’s not how I wanted to do this.” 

Keith tips Lance’s chin up, kissing him briefly. 

“I know. Come on. We’ve got a war to stop.” 

Lance nods, taking the coronation crown resting beside it, putting it in his own head. 

“Yeah. We gotta get out there.”

~

Lance guides them to the castle steps, Shiro sending off some of the Blades to spread the word and cease the conflict. The rest of them form a protective shield around Keith and Lance both as they stumble out into the courtyard. 

Blood has stained the white stones, bodies scattered everywhere and rage takes Lance.

“Stop it!” 

There’s little reaction to his cry and he grabs his father by the shoulder, yanking him around and putting his pistol to the man’s head. 

“Enough,” he hisses. “You will call a ceasefire and stand down.” 

His father gapes at him, blood on his own sword and Lance despises him for it. “You cannot be serious.”

“I have never been more serious in my life. This war ends now.”

“You can’t do this,” his father argues and Lance’s temper flares. Unlike Keith, Lance’s anger is all ice. It radiates from him in waves, those closest to him falling silent. One by one eyes turn, staring at where the prince of Altea has taken his own father hostage. 

“I can’t?” Lance hisses, eyes dark. “I am of age,” he declares. “The decision is mine to make. At your own behest,” he spits. “ _ You  _ asked I declare a partner for the coronation.” He raises his eyes to the crowd, light reflecting off the crown on his head. “I have!” 

Lance straightens, lifting his chin, voice leveling as he lowers the gun. “You have no say in the matter. It is done.” He steps back from his father and takes Keith’s hand. “He is mine and I am his.” His eyes are steel, daring his father to contradict him. 

“There was no bonding ceremony,” his father argues weakly, nervous at the eyes on them. “No witnesses.” His voice grows in strength as he feels he’s found a valid argument. “Your declaration is not valid.” 

Keith’s grip on Lance’s hand tightens but before he can say anything Shiro is stepping forward. 

“I was witness.” His voice is hard. “As were my men.” He glares. “And even if the bond is denied here, by our terms and customs, it is  _ not. _ They are bonded. He is Galra.” Shiro places himself on the steps between Lance and his father. 

“If you want him. You will go through me.” The other Blades whisper amongst themselves. Shiro is blatantly going against the orders of his own Emperor by making such a declaration. Many of them don’t know what to do. Shiro is their leader, their family, but they receive their orders from the Emperor. They are questioning their loyalties. 

“Your orders were to assassinate a tyrant,” Keith shouts. “To bring an end to the war.” He looks across the gathered crowd. “We have done that. You have completed your mission. The war is done.” Something in the line of Shiro’s shoulders relaxes. Keith had all but sentenced him to death when he’d asked Shiro to side with him over their own Emperor. But Shiro had done it. And Keith had just given him a way out. 

Keith leans into Lance to whisper. “Turn around. They need to see it.”

Lance turns his back on the assembly and there are gasps all around as Alteans and Galra both see the blood soaking the back of his clothes, the swollen wound to the back of his neck. 

There’s an angry bellow from Lance’s father. “How dare you lay your hands on my son!” 

Shiro brandishes his sword, holding the tip before the king’s chest, forcing him back before he impales himself on it.

Lance sweeps Keith’s braid away, revealing the same stain down his back. There’s a shift among the crowd, the Blades all closing ranks as one. They line the steps, expressions hard as they turn to defend Lance and suddenly the energy in the courtyard shifts. 

“He is Galra,” Shiro says. “Family. An attack on him is an attack on all of us.” 

Lance’s father steps away from the blade in Shiro’s hand. 

“I don’t understand.” 

Lance steps up to Shiro’s side. “Galra is not a race,” he explains. “It is a culture, a creed. By that design I am theirs. I am Galra and Altean both.” His voice hardens as he raises his eyes to the assembled crowd. “And I demand an end to the conflict.”

Keith steps up beside him, raising his voice with him. “The information you are being fed is tainted with lies and falsehoods. We do not  _ want _ war,” he says, the words meant for the Alteans. “We are not  _ savages. _ ” He spits the word like he’s heard it a hundred times before. 

“How are we to trust that?” one of the Alteans calls. 

Keith can’t blame them for their skepticism. “During my time here I fell in love with Altea. With your lore, your people.” His eyes find Lance’s. “And your prince.”

Their gazes catch and it takes Keith a moment to look back out to the crowd.

“I learned the beliefs I held about both him and his people and all I had been taught was a lie.” He looks out over the crowd. “The Galra do not want to wipe you out or subjugate you. We value uniqueness. We embrace it. If anything we would only seek to make you family.” He lets the words hang in the air with all the devotion and protection such a thing implies. 

“I want  _ peace. _ I want to live in a world where I don’t have to worry about the people I love coming home, about who won't make it back from the conflicts.” Keith’s face falls. “Do you even remember why we’re fighting?” he asks. 

He scans the crowd, looking for answers but no one can give them. 

“This war has been going on for centuries, perpetuated by our ancestors, by our own racism and willful determination to misunderstand one another. All I want...is a chance to know you,” Keith pleads.

“We as a people are fighting to protect our families from a perceived threat. We can combat this by knowing one another instead. There  _ is _ no threat,” he insists. “Your prince is already Galra, family, and any one of us would now die for him. The same as we would for one another.” He extends his hand to Lance. “We hold nothing in higher regard than family.” 

Lance looks at the assembled people, Galra and Altean intermixed as he takes Keith's hand.

“There has been much blood and loss on both sides,” he says, taking up where Keith left off. “That pain has only fed the conflict. It  _ must _ end. I’d like to break the chain our ancestors have forged.” The weight of all Lance has lost drags on him. “Break it with me.” 

Slowly the Alteans lower their weapons, their posture easing. A murmur passes through the crowd, the Blades slowly relaxing. 

There’s still anxiety threaded through the gathering but Lance sees a number of Galra and Alteans both extending their hands to one another in peace. 

Lance’s eyes burn and he squeezes Keith’s hand, lowering his voice to speak with him.

“We uh-" He clears his throat. “We should see about tending to the dead and wounded,” he murmurs. His mind is already racing, making a list of everything that needs to be done.

Keith looks at him with pride, his eyes liquid-warm. 

“You did it,” he says softly. 

Lance comes back to the moment, his heart skipping at the love in Keith’s eyes. 

“ _ We _ did it,” he corrects and the words leave him breathless. “We did it.” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe it but all around them weapons are being lowered. 

Keith leans in and kisses him. A cheer goes up among the Galra, a public display of love highly valued and shared. A number of the assembled Alteans look confused but join and a moment later the cry is deafening. 

Lance blushes a brilliant scarlet, covering his face with a hand, mortified. 

Keith grins, lifting their entwined hands into the air. There’s so much left to do. So much they need to learn about one another, cultural biases and language barriers to overcome. But the possibility is now there, where it wasn’t before. For once Keith feels hope swell in his heart. 

He lowers their hands, a wide grin on his face. 

“Here’s to peace.” 

Lance lifts his head, letting out a surprised noise as Keith pulls him into his arms, dipping him. 

He giggles, still embarrassed. “To peace,” he agrees. 

Keith kisses him long and deep as the assembly’s cry heralds a new beginning for them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, technically that’s the end of the fic but I have a lot of bonus content to follow.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance makes first contact and demands blood.

The first thing Lance does after making plans to care for the dead is to sit down and reach out to the Galran Emperor. 

His heart races in his chest as they wait, his hand growing slick where it’s gripping Keith’s. As the call connects he smooths his expression, Keith strong and silent beside him. 

“Emperor Zarkon,” Lance says, the figure on the screen scowling. Lance can’t say he blames him. “My name is Leonan Tylell.”

“I know who you are,” Zarkdon snaps. “What do you want?” His voice comes out a low growl. 

Lance doesn’t offer anymore platitudes or greeting, heeding Keith’s advice and jumps straight to the point. 

“Braylok,” he says flatly. “I am here to level an accusation of treason, war crimes, and the knowing murder of thousands of our families.” 

Zarkon hisses. “You think you are the only one who has lost family?”

Lance cocks his head curiously. “You say that like we are two separate peoples. We are not.” Zarkon’s eyes narrow curiously, flicking to Keith. He doesn’t look away and finally Zarkon’s eyes return to Lance. 

“I am Galra,” Lance declares.

Lance can hear the assembly murmur and hiss from somewhere off screen from Zarkon’s end. Keith squeezes his hand. 

“I will lose no more family to this war. Galran or otherwise.”

Zarkon glares at Keith. “You have  _ mated _ him?” he snaps. 

Keith lifts his chin in defiance. “He chose me. The selection was mutual. I am his and he is mine.”

“Your Majesty,” Lance interjects, “I am invoking the Rite of Blood.” 

There are cries of outrage before Zarkon snaps his arm out, demanding silence. 

“You cannot deny him the right,” Keith says softly. 

A muscle in Zarkon’s jaw flexes. “And you have what to gain by this?”

“If I lose,” Lance says carefully, “Altea will surrender.” Sweat breaks out along his spine as he says it. “If you want peace, and I believe you do, you have nothing to lose.” 

Keith hisses and if he had ears they would be flat to his head as a figure leans into frame. 

“Do not trust him your majesty. It is a ploy.” 

“Traitor!” Rage vibrates through Keith, his grip on Lance’s hand turning painful. 

“Says the former Blade who now sits as an Altean lapdog.” 

Keith is about to snap back when Lance kisses his hand, a blatant display of affection that seems to startle everyone. 

“Keith is my husband and as such a prince in his own right. He has as much say over what happens here as I do. Maybe more.” He straightens.

“I know very little of our peoples,” he says. “I am trying to learn. Until then, I am trusting him with my life and the lives of every member of this war. I value his guidance like no other.” Love taints Lance’s voice and he smiles. “If anyone is a lapdog here,” he teases, “I’m afraid it is me.” 

Zarkon watches them both carefully. 

“You cannot trust the word of a traitor,” Braylok murmurs. 

“Silence,” he rumbles. One clawed finger strokes over his lip thoughtfully. 

“And if you win the Blood Rite?” There’s a murmur of laughter all around that Lance tries not to flush at. 

“A ceasefire.” That seems to startle Zarkon. Lance’s eyes go hard and he points to Braylok. “And his life. I will have blood for blood.” The aggression smooths from his features as he looks back to the emperor. 

“I am proposing an end to the conflict. I have already ordered the withdrawal of Altea’s soldiers and am in the process of releasing what prisoners we have. They will be treated with the respect they deserve and all necessary medical treatment so they may be safely returned to Daibaizal.” 

“Lies,” Braylok hisses, lunging for the screen to intimidate. 

“Do you not want an end to the war Braylok?” Keith asks coolly.

“Of course,” he says, words cloying with false sincerity. “I am simply trying to protect my people.”

“Ours,” Zarkon corrects. 

Braylok stares at him in horror. “Sire?” 

“He is family,” Zarkon growls. “We cannot deny him.” 

There are more murmurs and outcries from the assembly that Zarkon ignores. 

Braylok’s lips peel back from his teeth. “Prove it. This could easily be a ploy or manipulation meant to draw us in. He could be lying.” 

Zarkon growls. Were Lance not Altean, Braylok would never demand such a thing. It’s insulting. 

“It’s alright,” Lance soothes and Zarkon settles. “If he has no faith and requires proof, I will give it.” 

He can feel Keith laugh beside him more than hear it. He’d been given a crash course in Galran behavior and politics, trusting Keith to guide him for this.

He rises smoothly from his throne, removing his cape and turning his back to the screen. 

Keith undoes the high collar of Lance’s shirt, peeling it back to bare the half healed wound on his neck. 

“And there was witness?” Zarkon asks. 

Keith nods. “Takashi Shirogane and his men. All will verify.”

Zarkon lifts an eyebrow at Braylok. “Has your faith been restored Braylok?” Even Lance can hear the subtle mockery in Zarkon’s tone. 

“Yes Your Majesty.” 

“And where would such a thing take place?” he asks as Keith smooths a hand along Lance’s throat, pulling his collar back into place.

“What reassurances do we have that we will not be ambushed on such an endeavor?” he asks, echoing some of what Braylok had said. 

Lance turns, affixing his cloak back in place.

“Altean troops are being immediately withdrawn from Galran territory.” Lance inclines his head. “And the same reassurances that I will also not suffer a similar fate by those who would not see an end to the war.” His voice softens and he holds Zarkon’s gaze. “I am asking for trust. You may bring as many or as few of your men as you like.

“You may even send a representative in your place. The last thing I would want at this point would be the loss of your life.” He holds Zarkon’s eyes. He knows suggesting such a thing has the implication of cowardice and he’s taking a risk by saying it. 

“If you would like you may select the place. And if it would cause less paranoia, I will bring only myself and my bondmate as witness. 

“What I am asking is not easy, I know that. But I am  _ willing _ ,” he insists. 

Zarkon watches him for a moment. 

“You would subject yourself to the rite with nothing more than that?” he asks and his voice is soft. “No guards? No soldiers?”

“I am more than capable of defending myself,” Lance says coyly, taking his seat beside Keith.

Zarkon nods thoughtfully. “Kalendral. It is an abandoned planet. Her people were wiped out long ago.” 

Lance nods somberly. “I extend to you my apologies for the slaughter and genocide.” Tears flood his eyes. Keith had told him what really happened, not the filtered version of Altean history and how Altean soldiers years ago had obliterated the colonies there. Lance makes a mental note to find who’s responsible for that on his side of things. 

“My heart mourns for their lives.” He cries openly, tears sliding down his face.

Zarkon’s jaw flexes again. “As does mine.” His voice comes out a low gravel and Lance knows the man is as tired of war as he is. 

Zarkon straightens his shoulders. “We will meet you in three of your Altean days.” 

“I will see you then,” Lance agrees. 

The feed cuts and Lance sags into the throne, taking a ragged breath. 

“That went better than expected.” His voice still waivers and she shifts uncomfortably. The material at his back is damp with sweat and sticks unpleasantly. 

Keith squeezes his hand. “You did well.” 

Lance tries to smile, turning to look at Keith and he’s pale. “I just hope I can win.” 

“You can,” Keith reassures. “Have a little faith in me.” He kisses Lance’s knuckles. “I taught you after all.” 

Lance tries to smile. “I hope so. Cause if I lose...Altea is yours.” 

Keith pales as the realization dawns on him. “Oh shit.” 


	19. Chapter 19

Things in the castle settle over the next few hours. Not to say there isn’t tension. But at least they’re not all out killing each other. 

Lance’s father is formally declared regent until Lance’s coronation which is to go ahead as planned. His father becomes a figurehead for Lance’s own will, ensuring the safety of the Galra still planetside. Lance issues an invitation to everyone who’s still there to come to the event. 

True to his word Lance acquits the Galran prisoners with his deepest apologies, inviting them to stay, offering them transportation to wherever they want to go, or put them in contact with Daibazal, whatever they might need. 

He goes back to the cells where he’d found Keith, asking for the names of every member in the prison. He gives the information and their descriptions to Shiro to take back, promising to contact their loved ones and tell them of their release. 

The guards are visibly nervous as they unlock the cells, Lance instructing to have them escorted to the abandoned hall he’d once stayed in. 

“I owe you all a deep apology for the way you have been treated. It was unjust.” His eyes drift between each of them. “Years of your lives have been stolen.” Sorrow tints his voice. “And I cannot give them back.” He pulls Keith’s blade free, extending it pommel first to the man closest to him. 

“What I can offer you is blood for blood.” 

He expects the man to take the knife, to draw the blade across his arm the way Keith had explained before he’s embraced, the debt repaid. Instead, gentle fingers rest over his, lowering the knife. 

“What happened was not your fault,” the man says softly. His eyes are kind where they meet Lance’s. “The debt is not yours to repay.” 

Lance’s lips tremble and he lowers the knife. “I’m sorry,” he rasps. “For everything.” 

Keith smiles from behind Lance’s shoulder. “Lance, I’d like you to meet Ulaz.” Keith steps up and introduces them, Ulaz dipping down to pull Keith into a greeting. Their foreheads touch and they share a breath the way Keith had explained is tradition. 

He pulls away with a fond smile.

“Ulaz, this is Leonan Tylell, the ruling monarch of Altea.” He smiles at Lance, touching his arm. “And my bondmate.” 

Lance flushes as Ulaz’s eyes widen. He presses a fist to his chest and bows. “My lord. Our lives are yours.” 

“There’s no-” Lance’s hands flutter awkwardly. 

“There is no greater honor,” Keith says softly. “You are Galra. They will serve and protect you the same as if you were the Emperor.” 

Lance stares at him in surprise. “Oh.” He glances at Ulaz, feeling wrong-footed. “Thank you.” It almost comes out as a question and he clears his throat, trying again. “Thank you. I’m honored.”

Ulaz smiles. “I would like to greet you if you will allow it.”

Lance’s posture eases and he nods. “I would like that.”

Ulaz presses his forehead to Lance’s, sharing a breath before pulling away. “The kit has taught you well.” 

Keith pouts. “Hey. I’m fully grown.”

Lance snickers, hiding the sound behind a fist. “Thank you. I am learning.” He steps back, lifting his voice so the others may hear. “This hall is empty. The former occupants...have passed on. 

“The rooms belonged to my family. I would be honored if you would all stay here. You are family now. There are private baths attached to each of the rooms. You may select your own or share, I have no preference. Should you have need of me, simply speak to one of the servants or the guards. I will be here.

“There is food waiting inside as well as a newly furnished wardrobe for each of you. I apologize if nothing fits the way it should. I have seamstresses working to rectify that.

“It may be too soon but my formal ascension to the throne is tomorrow. You are all invited. Should you prefer to go home I can have you escorted to the shuttles. They have been prepped with enough food and water to get you there and then some. But I would be honored to see you there tomorrow. 

“Until then, I will let you rest.” He bows respectfully, leaving the former prisoners to pick and choose where they will stay. 

Keith falls into step beside him. “You alright?” he says softly. “I know that was t easy.”

He can hear Lance swallow. “It was a difficult thing to talk about. It still is.” He lifts his eyes to Keith. “I think it will always hurt. I will always miss them.” His eyes turn wet. “But this is what they would want.” He smiles softly. “My mother never did approve of wallowing in grief.” 

A smile stretches across Keith’s mouth. “Sounds like a wise woman.”

“She was. She would have liked you.” He squeezes Keith’s arm. “Come on, there’s still a lot to do.” 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some soft boys and a touch of Thace and Ulaz.

Together Lance and Shiro make plans to have word sent out as quickly as possible that the war has ended. All Alteans are to fall back from Galran space as Lance declares peace. He holds little hope given the circumstances and short notice, but he sends an invitation to his coronation to the Emperor of Daibazal as well. Their last discussion had gone better than planned.

In spite of his anxiety and his father’s own misgivings, the coronation goes smoothly. Shiro stands at his side, the Blades taking it upon themselves to act as his own personal guard along with Lance’s own men. He insists they start by learning all they can about one another and that every Blade have an Altean counterpart. Shiro thinks it shows a lack of trust at first before Lance explains he wants them to pass through every door in tandem as equals. That’s the closest Lance gets to seeing the man smile. 

Once the coronation is over and Lance is mingling, Taelyn approaches him. Lance bristles, interrupting him before he can grovel.

“You put your hands on my husband,” he says flatly, not bothering to lower his voice. It draws several looks and a number of the nearby Galra hiss. 

Taelyn shifts awkwardly, glancing around uncomfortably. "He was a prisoner-" he mutters, glancing about awkwardly.

Lance takes a threatening step closer. 

“If I hear you’ve done such a thing to him or anyone else a third time-” He lowers his voice, baring his teeth. “I will kill you,” he hisses. “Two strikes Taelyn. You will not get a third.”

Taelyn’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “That- you can't do that,” he argues weakly. “That’s not Altean law.”

“But it is Galran,” Lance answers, his voice strong. “And I will not tolerate that poison in my court. There  _ must _ be trust.” His eyes narrow. “You are lucky to be allotted such forgiveness. I could just murder you where you stand.” He lets the words hang in the air.

“From now on you are a pariah among your own people. You will not be welcome in court. Your word will hold no power, no weight here. I exile you, now and forever. 

“May this judgement and ruling never be overturned.” He gestures and a pair of Blades and Altean guards come forward. A matching set of Galra from the assembled crowd flank them to Lance’s surprise. Ulaz is among them.

“He is to leave with his life,” Lance warns, lifting his hand in warning. One spits on the floor at Taelyn’s feet before walking off. The rest hiss in warning, claws flexing dangerously but make no move to inflict harm. 

Taelyn pales but doesn’t put up a fight as he’s escorted from the palace. 

Keith comes up to Lance, one arm circling his waist from where he’d been watching the entire scene unfold.

“Everything alright?”

Lance leans into Keith’s chest, a hand to his cheek drawing him in so he can drop a kiss to Keith’s scar. 

“Fine,” he reassures. “Just taking out the trash.” 

“Taelyn?”

Lance nods, taking the proffered drink Keith has brought back for him. “I thought he was your friend.” A crooked smile pulls at the corner of Keith’s mouth.

“No one who assaults another or touches them without their permission is my friend,” Lance snaps but Keith knows the anger isn’t for him. “I will not tolerate such a thing.”

Keith’s shoulder’s straighten with pride. “I thought you said that wasn’t the Altean way,” he says softly. “That he would escape punishment for what he did to me.” 

“It wasn’t. But it is now. I had no power to affect change before. Now I do. And I think the Galra were right.” 

Keith pulls him into a kiss, warm and lingering. 

“I love you,” he murmurs and someone in the crowd whistles. A cheer goes up to join them at the affectionate display. 

Lance bumps their noses together, trying not to laugh. “And I love you.” 

There’s a nearby disturbance, breaking them apart a moment later. Someone is shouldering their way through the crowd in their direction. Lance is about to call for the guards when Keith puts a hand on his shoulder. A figure appears, looking wildly about. His eyes land on Ulaz before he shouts his name, running towards him to close the distance. 

They collide full force, Ulaz stumbling under the weight of him as Thace drags him into an embrace. His grip on Ulaz is tight enough to bruise, a combination of scolding growls and deep purrs vibrating through him in a tangle Lance doesn’t understand 

Ulaz sags into him, baring his throat and pressing it to Thace’s neck, reveling in the sensation.

Lance watches curiously. “Who…?”

“His bondmate,” Keith explains softly before he’s letting loose a sharp whistle from between his teeth. 

The other Blades take notice of the reunion and similar shouts and cries of celebration go up. Many people clap or stomp out a rhythm until Thace pulls back with a blinding smile and kisses his husband. 

Lance’s arm slips around Keith’s waist and he tips their heads together. Keith’s fingers stroke over Lance’s knuckles. 

“Me too.” 

They watch as a small child totters over, tugging on Thace’s uniform. 

Thace presses a kiss to Ulaz’s temple before reaching down to lift the child. He deposits him safely in Ulaz’s arms before nuzzling at his ear. 

“Your son missed you,” he murmurs. 

Ulaz blinks back tears as tiny hands press to the sharpened planes of his face. 

Thace’s grip on him tightens. “ _ I  _ missed you.” 

Ulaz kisses his son on the cheek before kissing his bondmate again. A moment later they’re vanishing into the crowd still wrapped up in one another.

Lance tugs on one of the seams at Keith’s waist, his eyes still trying to search them out. There’s an odd look on his face.

“What is it?”

Lance tugs nervously on the seam again.

“Too soon to talk about kids?”

He means it to be a tease but it comes out a little too serious. 

Keith gives him a weighted, assessing look. 

“To have them?” he ventures, “a little.” He searches Lance’s eyes. “But to talk about it? No...I don’t think so.”

Lance squeezes his hand. “So...is that a maybe?”

Keith’s mouth pulls into a smile. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Maybe.” His stomach flips at the very idea with jittery excitement. 

“We could adopt,” Lance suggests. “Lots of kids have been displaced from the war. We could give them a home.”

Keith squeezes his hand. “You  _ just  _ married me,” he teases. “Do all Alteans move this fast?” 

Lance flushes and elbows him in the side. “I’ve always wanted kids,” he mumbles, thumb stroking over Keith’s knuckles. “It’s too quiet here.” There’s a touch of grief to his voice and Keith bumps their hips together. 

“Then I guess we’d better do something about that.”

“Someday,” Lance says and Keith smiles. “Think I’d like to spend some time just being two before we’re more than that.”

Keith kisses his cheek. “Me too.”


	21. Chapter 21

Things happen quickly. Between Lance’s declaration that the war is over, his public claiming of Keith as his husband, his coronation, and speaking with Emperor Zarkon, Lance loses track of time. It’s like one moment he blinks and the next he’s standing on the barren purple grey rock and dust of Kalendral. He’s ears are ringing and it’s difficult to focus on Keith’s voice through it. 

“Braylok is fast and a brute but he also has a temper.” His hands settle on Lance’s arms to hold him still and Lance’s focus narrows. “If you can make him angry he’ll get reckless. Do not let him get his hands on you,” Keith warns. “You’re strong but so is he. I don’t actually know who would win.” He tries to smile but it’s weak and Lance can feel Keith’s hands shaking. “Try to tire him out.”

Lance takes a shaky breath. “Right. I can do that.” He’s bouncing on his heels and Keith presses his Luxite blade into Lance’s hand. That makes Lance still as Keith wraps Lance’s fingers around the hilt.

His eyes flick up to Keith’s. “You’re sure?” he asks, his eyes searching Keith’s. “It was your mother’s…” Keith nods. 

“It is mine as much as it’s yours now. You’ve been training with it, you know what to do.” 

Lance nods, his eyes on the blade. His fingers finally tighten around the hilt. Keith pulls him in, kissing him deeply. Lance’s focus wavers, narrowing to the fill of Keith’s lips, the drag of his teeth, the press of his hands. 

“Come back to me,” he whispers against Lance’s mouth, still holding him close.

Lance’s lashes flutter and it takes him a moment to open his eyes. 

“I will,” he says thickly, gaze slowly focusing. “One way or another.” 

He sets his jaw and Keith nods sharply. His expression hardens to the one Lance grew so familiar with after they’d first met. It masks the anxiety Lance knows he’s feeling as he stands tall, hands clasped behind his back.

Lance turns to face Braylok, nodding briefly before they begin to circle one another. 

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Braylok snarls. 

Lance’s heart races, the knife turning to a sword in his hands. He holds his patience, waiting, watching, and finally Braylok lunges for him the way Keith said he would. 

Lance measures his steps, dodging out of the way. He looks for the cues Keith taught him, struggling to stay out of reach but Braylok is _fast_. He’s more than twice Lance’s size and solid muscle. It’s hard to avoid him. 

Lance loses his footing on the uneven terrain and Braylok’s meaty fist doesn’t hesitate to connect with the side of his face. 

It throws him off his feet, the impact knocking the knife from his hand as he hits the ground. He barely manages to roll out of the way as Braylok’s foot comes down towards his throbbing head. 

The man grins as Lance rises slowly to his feet. His jaw is throbbing and he can taste blood. 

Braylok charges and Lance throws the handful of dirt he scooped up right into his eyes. 

He recoils with a shriek and Lance lunges for his knife, scrambling to his feet and sprinting back at his target. 

Braylok swings high and Lance hits the dirt, skidding past him, Keith’s sword slashing him across the back of the leg. 

Braylok howls and Lance skitters away from him as his blood stains the earth. Lance tries not to look to either Keith or Zarkon for a reaction, focus solely on the man in front of him.

Lance stands there panting, blood spilling from his mouth. He feints and dodges as Braylok grows tired, cutting him a dozen times, each wound shallow but adding up. 

He takes his own heavy blows, each one leaving him rattled and bruised, slower than before and Lance knows he’s running out of time. 

Braylok manages to land a heavy kick to Lance’s ribs, hurling him across the ground where he falls still. 

Sensing triumph Braylok stalks closer. Lance doesn’t move. 

Keith’s heart races and he grinds his nails into his palms, struggling to swallow the urge to scream but Lance _isn’t moving._ e

As Braylok advances, a scant few feet away Keith can’t help the warning shout that tears from him.

“Lance!” 

There’s no response and Braylok lifts his sword into the air, ready to plunge it down where he stands over Lance’s prone form. 

With the last of his strength Lance drives his boot into Braylok’s kneecap. 

The man screams, the sword falling from his hands as he hits the ground where Lance had been waiting. Lance snatches up his own fallen blade, driving it straight into Braylok’s heart. 

There’s a gurgling gasp, Braylok’s eyes wide in surprise. 

“That’s for every life you’ve ever stolen,” Lance gasps. 

He’s winded, the taste of dust in his mouth. His ribs throb and his words are slurred around his swollen cheek where it’s split against his teeth. 

Braylok’s hand grasps for Lance’s shoulder, his claws digging in. 

Lance knocks it away, stumbling to his feet and ripping the sword free. Braylock stumbles, eyes glazed as his body sinks to the ground. Lance stands over him, watching as the breath finally leaves him.

His eyes fall to Zarkon, blood dripping from the blade in the silence.

For a moment Keith is afraid the Rite won’t stand, that Zarkon will argue against the murder of his advisor. 

Instead he nods, slowly uncrossing his arms. 

“The Rite is complete,” he declares. 

Lance swallows thickly, picking up Braylok’s sword. He limps over to Zarkon, handing him the blade hilt first. 

“I would like...to sign a peace treaty,” Lance manages. He thinks he may have knocked a few teeth loose. 

Zarkon lifts a hand. “There will be time enough, kit. Go home. Rest.” He touches Lance’s hair, tipping his forehead down against his until their noses touch. 

“Thank you,” Zarkon murmurs for Lance’s ears only. 

Lance takes a ragged breath. “I’m sorry it took so long.” 

Zarkon lifts his head and smiles and Lance can see the age around his eyes. 

He glances to where Keith is waiting tensely. “He chose well.” 

Lance flushes but nods. He swallows back the emotion in his throat. “I don’t deserve him,” he admits. “I can only hope to be worthy of him.” 

Zarkon smiles and his eyes sparkle. “As do we all.” He squeezes the side of Lance’s neck affectionately. “I look forward to your first visit to Daibazal.”

Lance grins. “And I yours to Altea.”

Zarkon inclines his head in gratitude. “I would be honored.” He gives Lance a gentle push. “Now go. Assuage his fears.”

Lance feels giddy. “Thank you.” 

Zarkon nods, turning for his ship, his own witness standing to the side. 

Lance makes his way slowly towards Keith who lunges for him when he’s close enough, practically vibrating with the need to touch him but also retain some semblance of professionalism. His heart is light, adrenaline and disbelief making him dizzy. 

“You did it,” Keith whispers. His voice is stained with fear. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Keith tips his forehead into Lance’s, sharing the same embrace he’d just had with Zarkon. 

“ _We_ did it,” Lance murmurs. “None of this would have been possible without you.” 

When they pull back Lance makes a face. “What is that?” he asks curiously. “You told me it was a greeting but it seems- almost spiritual.”

Keith smiles. “A greeting. Our minds meet, then our souls. By sharing the breath we are reminded that we are all connected, that we are one.” 

Lance blinks at him in surprise. “Oh.” There’s a thoughtful purse to his mouth and he nods slowly. “I like it.” He closes his eyes, his forehead tipping into Keith’s again. He hurts all over. 

“Take me home,” he whispers. “Before I fall over or pass out and embarrass myself.”

Keith snorts, kissing Lance once more before helping him back to their own ship. He flies them back to Altea, his heart filled with pride and love.

Six months ago Keith never would have imagined this was the way his life would go; that he’d fall in love, marry a prince, and bring an end to war that’s been raging longer than his lifespan. 

He looks over at where Lance is dozing in the space next to him. He’s battered and bloody and too young for all he’s seen and done. And there’s nowhere else Keith would rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that's ACTUALLY the last of it for the plot. I have a few small canon snippets of things that happen but that didn't make their way into the main story I'll tack on for you as well.


	22. Where is Krolia?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief snippet that as of yet hasn't made it's way into the core story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what the timeline on this is like but eh. Trust that it happens.

“My mother was a Blade,” Keith explains. 

Lance’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wait, I thought you said most Blades don’t have families?”

Keith smiles. “They don’t. She retired after she met my father.” 

“Oh.”

“They pulled her out of retirement when I was a kid. I never got the details. I just know she left...and she didn’t come back.” His mouth pulls in a sad smile. “Shiro recruited me for the Blades. He may not be my brother by blood, but he  _ is _ my brother. There is no such thing as an orphan on Daibazal. It’s a great honor to care for a child. Especially one who has lost their parents.”

“Do you think…” Lance bites his lip. “Is it possible she’s still alive somewhere? Maybe now that the war has ended…”

“I don’t know,” Keith admits. “It’s been so long.” Sadness bows his shoulders. “I said goodbye to her a long time ago. But some days...I hope.”

~

Krolia upon making her way back to Daibazal once the war has ended. She finds Shiro who can’t stop staring at her. 

“Where is my son?” Desperation taints her voice as she reaches for him. 

~

They’re sitting in the throne room when a tall woman with dark two-toned hair walks in. She has cat-like eyes, pointed ears, and a dark braid down her back. 

Keith sees her, the laughter dying in his throat. Lance tracks his eyes to the woman, one hand falling protectively to Keith’s arm. 

“Keith?” he asks gently. 

Keith swallows, never taking his eyes from the woman. 

“Mom?”

Lance feels like someone kicked him in the chest. 

Keith rises slowly, descending the steps and Lance sees tears in the woman’s eyes. She touches Keith’s cheek over the scar and Lance sees her lips tremble. There’s a soft exchange of words and then they’re pressing their foreheads together, sharing the same breath, both of them crying. 

A moment later they’re hugging and Lance relaxes into his throne. Tears burn in his eyes and he stares up at the ceiling, whispering to who or whatever might be listening. 

“Thank you.”


End file.
